Home Videos
by rayychel infinity
Summary: Blaine doesn't wait for an answer before he's saying, "When you have the house to yourself, watch the DVD. For me. Please."
1. Last Night I Saw A Movie

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy.  
>Warnings are: masturbation, hints at sex, videotaping sexual acts, toy usage, slight dirtytalk.<br>This is based off a kink meme prompt that goes a little something like this:

**"Blaine and Kurt have another discussion about sex/porn and for some reason Blaine gets it into his head that Kurt would be more comfortable with a homemade porn tape.**

**A couple days later he gives a home-burnt DVD to Kurt, and it's video of a very embarrassed, but very turned on Blaine: masturbating, fingering himself, fellating a dildo.**

**Kurt wonders what he said that made Blaine think this was a good idea. Embarrassed, he watches it anyway. And then wonders why the HELL he thought it WASN'T a good idea, because it was the hottest thing he's ever seen. (Maybe with some added masturbating!Kurt?)"**

Reviewers: you are the light at the long end of the tunnel. I love everyone who sticks around no matter what dumb story I've posted next.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

First thing in the morning, McKinley's hallways are always nearly deafeningly loud. The packs of kids who walk by swirl in nauseating clouds of perfume and cologne and body spray. Students talk, yell, laugh. Lockers slam and someone always, _always_ drops something.

Kurt fiddles with his notebooks, pushing them around inside his locker as he waits for Blaine to arrive. A quick check at the hallway clock reveals that it's ten after eight, exactly ten minutes later than when Blaine usually arrives. Frustrated, Kurt checks his phone again for a missed text but sees only a semi-blurry photo of the two of them smiling at the camera behind his iPhone's locked screen. It's not like Blaine to be a little late if at all, and it's _definitely_ not like him to not text like this.

Just as Kurt's slamming his locker door closed and preparing to head off to first period resource management alone, Blaine appears at the end of the hallway, looking slightly flustered but as cute as ever. His bag is haphazardly slung over his shoulder, bouncing against his side as he half-jogs down the crowded hallway. In his hand is a cup of coffee and what looks to be a CD in a plain white sleeve.

"Hey, beautiful," Blaine says breathlessly when he comes to a halt in front of Kurt. A few curls have worked loose and brush stiffly against Blaine's forehead as he catches his breath. Kurt wants to sweep them back up into the cage of hair gel that retains the rest of Blaine's hair but decides against it. The curls look rebellious and surprisingly really hot. Blaine holds out the coffee and CD to Kurt. "These are for you."

Kurt takes the coffee gratefully and eyes the CD skeptically. It's in a paper sleeve and, except for the logo of the brand, is otherwise plain silver and unmarked. This close Kurt can see that it's also a DVD, not a CD. "Thanks, Blaine. What's this?"

Blaine colors and looks slightly guilty, refusing to meet Kurt's eyes. Immediately Kurt's on edge. Blaine never looks guilty unless he's got a pretty huge reason to. "Blaine?" he prompts, voice a little harder. He narrows his eyes for effect, ducking his head slightly to stare at Blaine's face and Blaine instantly caves.

"Look, don't kill me," Blaine says, still holding the DVD in his hand. "But you remember our discussion from last night?"

_"Kurt," Blaine says. His voice is serious, steady and calm. "How often do you jerk off?"_

_Kurt chokes on his next inhale and twists his fingers together on his lap. "Blaine, I don't really want to talk about this—"_

_"I just came inside you the other night," Blaine deadpans. "Well, the condom, but you catch my drift."_

_"You're crude," Kurt replies, but he caves in and says, "Not very often."_

_He doesn't miss the way Blaine's eyes widen in surprise. "Why?"_

_"I don't see the point?" Kurt says, blinking once like Blaine's the one not making sense. "Before you I didn't have a lot of sexual frustration. And I don't really see the need, I guess. I have you."_

_Blaine sucks in a breath and nods, slowly. "Okay."  
><em>

Now it's Kurt's turn to color. Of course he does. He'd have to be insane to forget an awkward conversation about porn and masturbation with the boy who'd just recently taken his virginity. He understands the hype about sex now, but why watch porn when he has a perfectly willing boyfriend who makes the _hottest_ faces when he's about to come? He'd already made his reluctance about internet porn clear in April.

"Blaine," Kurt hisses, looking around quickly to make sure no one's listening, "just because we had sex once doesn't mean I have to start watching… _those_ movies."

"This leans more toward the other part of our conversation," Blaine supplies, blushing harder. His voice goes a little higher and he clutches the strap of his bag in a white-knuckled grip, practically shaking the disc in Kurt's face in his haste to transfer it. "Can you please just take the DVD?"

Kurt takes it and quickly slips it inside his notebook. He takes a sip from his rapidly-cooling coffee and begins to walk down the hallway, hoping that maybe his abrupt motion would be enough to change the direction of the conversation. As usual, he's completely wrong and Blaine's as persistent as ever. Blaine matches his step with Kurt and continues to speak. "You said you were going to be alone tonight, right?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow and looks at him out of the corner of his eye, turning slightly to avoid a run-in with a girl rushing the opposite direction. "So eager for round two?" he asks dryly.

Blaine chokes out a strained laugh and tugs at his black bowtie, a nervous habit that Kurt had quickly picked out. "Not tonight, sorry, though the idea _is_ tempting. After all, we didn't get to… switch things up."

Kurt's blush returns full-force and he gulps coffee to keep from making an embarrassing noise. He hates and loves how quickly and easily Blaine can go from embarrassed teen to experienced man even though their levels of experience are exactly the same at the moment. "Anyway," Blaine says, "what I meant was, Carole still has the late shift."

Kurt nods.

"And Burt is going out to some bar with his friends."

Kurt nods again.

"And Finn is working at the garage until nine."

Blaine doesn't wait for an answer before he's saying, "When you have the house to yourself, watch the DVD. For me. Please."

Before Kurt can answer Blaine's kissing him quickly on the cheek and veering off for his Spanish class. Kurt's left more confused than ever and doesn't even notice how no one in the hallway reacted to their minimal display of PDA.

**xxxxXxxxx**

True to his word, the moment after the door shuts behind Burt has Kurt climbing the stairs quickly, curiosity nibbling away at his insides as he pushes open his bedroom door. The notebook that the DVD is hidden in is on his desk and Kurt flips it open, sliding the disc out of the case. He examines it, squinting and flipping it over and over in his fingers like that will tell him of its secret contents. Finally, with a sigh of resolution, he sits at his desk.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," Kurt grumbles as he feeds the disc to the side of his iMac. But he _does_ know why. He's doing it for Blaine because he loves him. Kurt trusts him more than he's ever trusted anybody and this DVD can't _possibly_ be that bad. Knowing Blaine, which Kurt likes to think that he does since they've been dating for over half a year and have known each other longer still, it's probably something music-related and he'd just been embarrassed that he'd actually recorded it and given it to his boyfriend.

QuickTime shows up and Kurt drags the cursor to make the screen a little bigger. The video isn't very long, hovering around a half-hour or so. The screen comes into focus slowly and Kurt is only half-surprised to see that it's a tight shot of Blaine's bedroom—more specifically, his bed and his tastefully boyish sheets and comforter. Maybe he _had_ been working on a secret love song medley for Kurt and that was why he'd been so embarrassed. Kurt doesn't try to stop the stupidly sappy grin that overtakes his face; if there's one thing he loves besides the actual human himself, it's Blaine's voice.

He's also really trying not to think about the last time that he had been on those sheets because if Blaine's serenading him with romantic songs he doesn't need to be thinking about what comes after the wooing.

Of course the resolution is in HD: for Christmas last year Blaine's dad had gotten him an HD camcorder even though Blaine would have no use for it except to record the Warblers doing various stupid and dangerous stunts a la low-rent _Jackass_. _Well,_ Kurt thinks as he stares at Blaine's bedroom on his computer monitor, _looks__ like__ yo__u found a better use for it than injuring yourselves beyond repair__._

After a few tinny sounds of shuffling and movement Blaine appears in front of his bed. He's shirtless, hair dripping and loose like he's just gotten out of the shower. And _god_, Kurt had missed that chest with its subtle but still mouthwatering muscle definition and smooth, olive skin.

But, shirtless. And a video camera. Blaine's blushing and stuttering and insistence at school earlier in the day suddenly make a hell of a lot more sense than they did back then. It clicks in Kurt's brain that this is _definitely_ not Blaine singing love song after sappy love song and that maybe he'd been right to think dirty thoughts about that bed.

"Blaine Anderson, you conniving bastard," Kurt hisses, but he doesn't deny the stirrings low in his abdomen. He can't go back now even if he wanted to.

"Hi, Kurt," camera-Blaine says sheepishly. "Don't kill me for making this—_I_ might kill myself for making this—but I just want you to know that there's absolutely nothing wrong with porn." He laughs a little and rubs the back of his neck as he looks at the wall, floor, anywhere but the blinking red camera light.

Kurt rolls his eyes and clutches harder at his mouse. Blaine continues, his voice slightly distorted where it filters through Kurt's speakers. "Every healthy relationship utilizes mutual masturbation," Blaine says, hands going to the button of his jeans. Kurt stops breathing and has to pause the video because oh _fuck_. This is really happening. His boyfriend had really used his nice, expensive video camera to film himself _jerking off_.

Kurt will be the first to admit that, yes, he's extremely inexperienced when it comes to sex. The decision to go all the way with Blaine had been mainly his, that much was true, but it didn't mean that he wasn't _nervous_. Laying on the very same bed that's in the paused video right now, down to only a skimpy pair of briefs that left very little to the imagination, Kurt had never been more terrified. But he'd breathed and then Blaine had been there, boxers tented out, looking just as hard as Kurt felt and with a shy smile on his lips as he'd straddled Kurt's hips and leaned down to kiss him, just to ground them both to the reality that this was happening.

Kurt un-pauses the video and camera-Blaine drops his jeans to his feet. Kurt can barely make out the outline of Blaine's cock in his classically black briefs and like a switch, he's left wanting _more_ because he knows what that cock looks like naked and hard and suddenly this really, really isn't enough.

"We still have a lot of firsts to cross off our lists," Blaine says as he fingers the waistband of his underwear, nearly parroting Kurt's words back at him. Kurt smiles and shifts slightly in his chair, the familiar feeling of warm love blossoming in his chest and lowering to mingle with the hot, tense coil of anticipated arousal. "And I know you won't mention anything sex-related unless I do first. So, here it goes: I want you to know what I look like when I—when I jerk off. And don't for one second think I'm not as embarrassed as you are." He laughs again and it is a little more strained than before. Blaine's eyes are wide, owlish in their intensity, the way he gets when he's nervous yet excited.

Blaine turns and stoops over to rummage in his bedside drawer. Kurt takes this time to collect his thoughts and readjust himself in his jeans with a blush forming high on his cheekbones and snaking down the pale skin of his neck. He should _not_ be getting off to this. It doesn't matter if it's his boyfriend—something about this feels wrong, like he's intruding on the personal things that should be kept personal.

Shutting the drawer and climbing onto his bed, Blaine kneels and faces the camera, cheeks stained red and eyes darting around his room like he'll find something more interesting there to stare at. When he'd turned Kurt had seen how _hard_ he'd gotten since this video had started, and he wishes for an insane moment that Blaine's briefs were any color but black so that he could see the small soaked portion of the fabric where the head of Blaine's cock would be.

Screw personal things that should be kept personal: his boyfriend had made a _sex tape_. And damn, if that wasn't the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Blaine takes a deep breath and slides his underwear off his hips, down his lean thighs. He lifts up a leg at a time to get them past his knees and then they're on the ground, discarded, and _he's naked_. He's hard, cock flushed dark red, the slit leaking pre-come already. Kurt audibly gulps. The last time he'd seen Blaine naked the lighting had been dimmer, recessed. They could barely make out each other in the darkness. But now he can see _everything_ and he's overcome with emotions he's never felt before, lust and love and the pulsing need to touch and mark and have.

When Blaine wraps a hand around his cock the moan he lets out is long and low and comes through Kurt's speakers as the sweetest sound he's ever heard. "I don't want to freak you out," Blaine says as he strokes up the length of his cock once, palming the head for good measure and bringing his hips up into the friction slightly, "but I think about you. A lot."

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Blaine jerks off to him, but it still sort of does because Kurt isn't used to this kind of attention. Until last November he'd nearly given up on love and romance and had begun to settle for just scraping by until he graduated and moved to New York where there would be every kind of gay man imaginable for him to try out.

"I really want you to fuck me." Blaine's words snap Kurt out of his open-mouthed thoughts and it's like his heart had stopped. Blaine _wants_ that? Sure, Kurt had imagined fucking and being fucked like the majority of gay teen males, but with his feminine qualities that even he had to admit to he'd always sort of expected to be the bottom even though it was never what he really wanted. Blaine continues and Kurt very nearly misses what he says next. "I know you're probably surprised, Kurt, but don't be. You're such a powerful, strong person and I think that it's just something that people around here don't realize."

Blaine jerks himself a little faster, using his free hand to reach up to rub at a nipple, and he _whimpers_. Kurt lets out a groan he's not aware of even making and palms himself through his jeans, watching with rapt attention as the muscles in Blaine's shoulder and arm flex, the way the shiny red head of his cock appears and disappears in the tight circle of his fist. He's aching with want and need, brain fuzzy with arousal and unyielding desire to go to Blaine's house and fuck him senseless. He wonders if that's exactly what Blaine's thinking about right now, if he's envisioning Kurt pinning him down into the sheets and fucking him hard and rough until he can't speak and can't concentrate.

"I've imagined your fingers in me for awhile," Blaine says. His voice has dropped and holds a scratchy, wrecked quality Kurt's never heard before. "You know, opening me up for your long, thick cock."

"Me too," Kurt whispers, and he can't even be bothered that he's speaking to someone who can't even hear him. He has, but he'd been too afraid to bring it up with Blaine when they had their heart-to-heart, too afraid he wouldn't want it or that he'd think that Kurt wasn't ready or that he'd only ever want to be the one to hold that kind of power. It's dumb, Kurt knows that, but underneath it all he's insecure and unused to the devotion and affection Blaine shows toward him. Kurt finally pops the button on his jeans and lifts his hips off the chair to slide them down to mid-thigh, leaving his briefs on for now.

Blaine reaches for something on the bed that Kurt can't quite make out and then there's some awkward shuffling, Blaine's lower lip trapped between his teeth as he shifts and _oh_. He's dropped to his hands and knees, ass facing the camera and legs spread wide. Thanks to the near-perfect quality and just enough lighting from the various lamps Blaine has spaced throughout his room Kurt can clearly see Blaine's cock and balls hanging heavy and full between his legs. His back is bowed towards the bed and he brings a hand back to his ass. Lube glistens on his fingers in the semi-dim light of his room.

Kurt tries to control his breathing as Blaine slips his index finger in and crooks it with a soft moan. He's panting by the time he adds another finger, hips jerking down towards the bed as he slips his index and middle fingers in to the last knuckle. Kurt's heart is pounding, head spinning as he fidgets restlessly in his chair, aching to touch but too ashamed to do so as he remembers just what those fingers had felt like inside him, searching and so _long_. He should really stop this video now and call Blaine, demanding that he come over so that they can do this in person so that he doesn't feel like a weird perv who'd just stumbled upon a video recorded from a hole cut in a wall.

But he doesn't and he knows he never would. Blaine had done this for him because he knows how much Kurt hates talking about sex and porn and any intimacy that isn't PG-13; this is his way of opening them both up more, metaphorically. And maybe they are perfect for each other and maybe they do balance each other out like any good couple should be able to do.

Maybe Kurt's just so in love he's physically in pain sometimes and he'd have it no other way.

Blaine's up to three fingers know, twisting and spreading in a steady rhythm that has his hips stuttering and the bed creaking slightly. He's moaning almost obscenely and if Kurt listens carefully he thinks he can hear his name in there somewhere, vowels stretched and long and reedy with Blaine's want.

"Fuck," Kurt hisses, finally giving in, pushing down his briefs and grasping his cock in his hand, feeling it twitch, hot and heavy and aching. "Blaine."

His strokes are desperate, his eyes glued to the screen as Blaine flips over onto his back and draws his legs up, knees bent, spread open and wide. His hole is stretched just enough to be noticeable, his cock lying hard against his abdomen. Blaine gropes for something on the bed next to his pillow, and when he finally grabs it and brings it down between his legs Kurt squeezes his cock a little too hard. It's a _dildo_. Blaine has a dildo and the head of it is pressing against his hole before he apparently thinks better and pauses. Blaine has probably _used_ it before, oh god, used it and thought of Kurt, maybe of anonymous guys before they met and started dating. It's been _inside_ Blaine, been in that tight heat that Kurt wants to feel around his own cock.

Blaine lifts himself up, resting on his elbows, and he locks eyes with the camera for the briefest of moments before he's opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around the toy, _oh fuckfuckfuck_, and sliding it into his mouth, lips a tight suction around the replicated shaft.

Watching his boyfriend fellate a sex toy could be the thing that ends everything, Kurt decides. Seeing Blaine bob his head, hollow his cheeks and make slurping noises that shouldn't go straight to Kurt's cock but do is almost enough to end things right here. Blaine pulls back, swirls his tongue around the head and Kurt _keens_, bucking up into his fist and feeling sweat prickle at his skin. He feels too tight under his shirt, inside his own skin as his boyfriend sucks off an inanimate object that isn't him and it so isn't _fair_.

When Blaine brings the toy between his legs a second time, he meets the camera's lens again and _winks_. "Whenever I use this," Blaine says, voice a little hoarse now the way it is when he's close, Kurt's come to realize, "I do that and I think of you." Kurt lets out a strangled groan-gasp-growl hybrid. Images of Blaine face down, ass up, hand working the toy at a dizzying pace, of him on his back like he is now, spread out and wanton, moaning freely without the restriction of parents or siblings, these all flash through Kurt's mind rapidly.

They're having a talk, it's official. Blaine's never mentioned any of this and Kurt had never known that he wanted any of this as badly as he does now. He's jittery, shaking like his body doesn't know what emotion to act on. He thumbs the head of his cock and draws the pre-come around, twisting his wrist as he slides down and back up.

Blaine presses in with a steady hand, going slowly. He moans, the noise tapering off at the end to something in the back of his throat, something Kurt wants to replay again and again. When his fingers meet his flesh he stills before sliding out to the tip and pushing his hips up to bring the toy back in. Blaine's getting louder now, his noises so shameless and frequent that Kurt has to actually turn down his volume slightly even though he's the only one home. Blaine fucks up into the toy, body bent nearly double as he twists on his elbow to watch it disappear inside of him in a blur of lubed silicon, his cock bouncing, untouched, against his abdomen. His mouth is open, sweat barely shining on his brow. Eyebrows furrowed, crease set in his forehead as he concentrates on bringing himself off.

"Fuck," Blaine whimpers, tossing his head back as his hips fuck up quicker, the muscles in his arms flexing as his thighs twitch, legs spreading impossibly wider. "Oh, Kurt, _shit_. Fuck me, please. _Harder_." He's whining, now, moans mingling in when he changes angles and must hit his prostate.

And hearing Blaine, strong, dapper Blaine who had been so restrained and tender last time, _lose it_ like this, beg for _Kurt_ and thrust his hips with an abandon Kurt has never seen before, is what tips him over the edge. He barely has time to push away from his desk before he's coming in hot splashes over his hand and the plain t-shirt he has on, Blaine's name frozen on his lips as he tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling.

He looks back at the screen just as Blaine's coming, wrist moving so fast his hand and the toy are nearly blurs. He can see the faint splashes of white paint across Blaine's torso as he moans deep in his throat, his chest, back arching and hand finally stilling as he catches his breath and splays out on the bed. Kurt ejects the disc and gives himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He just watched his boyfriend fuck himself on a dildo. He'd watched him jerk off and come on video. Kurt doesn't know if he could love Blaine more than he does at this moment.

After cleaning up and changing into an old black tank top, Kurt grabs his iPhone from where it had been resting on the bed and drafts a message to Blaine, hesitating before finally sending it.

_Next time we're alone together, I'm going to fuck you senseless, Blaine Anderson.  
><em>

Because he has a boyfriend, right? And that's what boyfriends who love each other do, right?

At least those who have boyfriends who make "educational" videos do.


	2. Last Night I Saw My World Explode

Warnings are: sex, language (duh), minor amount of Blaingst. That's about it. And now since this is chaptered, both titles are from Fall Out Boy songs, the first "Moving Pictures" and the second from "Switchblades And Infidelity."

All right, you guys won. The much-asked-for sequel to _Home Videos_, in which Kurt makes good on his promising text to Blaine.

I love you, reviewers. This is all for you.

****xxxxXxxxx****

Kurt's back at his locker the next morning, waiting, just like he does every day. He feels weird, though, different in a way he can't describe. It's not the same as when he and Blaine had sex for the first time; that had been warm and fuzzy, and all day he'd wanted to shout it to the school, shout it to _anyone_ who would listen that he wasn't the prude everyone thought that he was.

No, this was… it wasn't unwelcome, but amidst the intermittent waves of _oh god that was undoubtedly the most erotic experience of my life_ there was the niggling _oh god, I just watched my boyfriend jack off, I'm such a perv_ feeling. And though that _had_ been Blaine's intention, Kurt can't help but feel like an intruder.

He also can't help but feel like every kid passing him _knew_. Even Brett, who smelled more homeless than ever, cast him a side-glance that had Kurt looking down to make sure he hadn't mismatched the shiny black buttons on his red cardigan or that he hadn't mistakenly forgotten to do up his fly this morning before leaving the house.

It makes him more paranoid than ever even though it's _all in his head_.

The clock on the wall behind him switches to 8:01 and before Kurt can wonder why Blaine's late _again_ the boy in question appears at the end of the hallway like he does every day. Unlike he does every day, today Blaine appears nervous and… ashamed?

"Hey baby," Kurt coos, putting on the best boyfriend-voice that he can muster when Blaine draws close. He's not usually one for the endearments, but today seems appropriate.

"Hi," Blaine says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He fiddles with the strap of his bag and leans against the row of lockers, staring at the opposite wall instead of into Kurt's eyes like he does every morning.

Something is _definitely_ up, and yeah, Kurt had sort of expected them to be weird for a little bit until they talked about what obviously just happened, both on Blaine's part and on his, but this isn't anything like Kurt had been expecting. Blaine is acting like he's afraid Kurt's going to shun him, laugh at him, or worse, break up with him.

Kurt looks at Blaine's hunched shoulders and the slight downward curve of his lips. His posture screams submission, metaphorical tail between the legs and all. Kurt knows that he'd sent a text that _should've_ shown Blaine how much he… _appreciated_ that video gift, but maybe… "Did you get my text?" he asks.

Blaine silently shakes his head and draws his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling and watching a girl struggle with a huge diorama for biology.

_Oh_. He didn't get it. Kurt steps towards Blaine, resting a hand on his shoulder and trying to pretend like he didn't feel the minute jump Blaine just did at the contact. This is worse than the auditorium after opening night of _West Side Story_.

"Blaine," he says softly, stepping in front of his boyfriend. It's with a sinking heart that he notices the unshed tears gathered in the corners of Blaine's eyes. "I texted you last night. It must not have gone through."

Blaine makes a soft noise but doesn't say anything. His eyes flicker to Kurt's, to his lips, and then back down. "Blaine," Kurt says again, dipping his head to capture Blaine's attention, to at least get him to _look_. Blaine looks so _scared_, so afraid of being unwanted and rejected that Kurt's becoming the one that wants to curl up in a ball and sob for hours. "Honey, I _texted_ you last night."

"I know," Blaine says softly, trying to smile but failing.

"No," Kurt huffs, "you don't get it. I watched the video like you told me to and I _texted_ you. Specifically something I would prefer not to say aloud here in school."

"What?" Blaine asks, and he still sounds so, so small. Instead of replying, Kurt pulls out his phone and thumbs through to his sent messages where, sure enough, his text to Blaine last night hadn't been sent due to general problems. He sends it again and waits.

Blaine pulls his own phone out when it vibrates in his bag and Kurt watches his eyes get wider and wider, mouth dropping open in the telltale _I'm so turned on right now_ way.

"R-really?" he asks softly, looking at Kurt with hopeful eyes.

"Really," Kurt replies. "There's so—so _much_ I want to do with you, Blaine. I meant it last weekend and I mean it now."

"So that stupid video," Blaine starts, sniffling a little.

"Was not stupid," Kurt finishes, squeezing Blaine's shoulder. He wants to kiss him so badly but he can't, not here. "I—oh, screw it. I'm just going to say it: I got off on it."

Blaine inhales sharply.

"Let's get to class," Kurt says, more flustered than he'd like to be. "We have all of P.E. to talk about this."

****xxxxXxxxx****

It's absolutely _not fair_ that Kurt can't even sneak a peek at his boyfriend changing a few feet from him. Though it might be for the best right now, since every time Kurt closes his eyes he pictures the video from last night, sees Blaine spread and open and _moaning_.

When the rest of the class clears out Kurt holds Blaine back, looking quickly around the locker room before sitting gingerly down on a bench, trying not to think of germs and the general nastiness that are in high school locker rooms.

"Why did you make that video?" Kurt asks when Blaine sits down next to him.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Blaine answers honestly. "I kept thinking about how good you felt around my dick and the way you _looked_, god. And our conversation about masturbation was the perfect excuse to make that video and give it to you."

Kurt puts his hand on Blaine's bare knee and leans in to kiss him, long and soft and sweet. "God, I love you," he whispers when they part. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"I could ask the same thing," Blaine says, voice breathy and not quite there.

They're in a locker room; it should be gross, but all Kurt can hear, feel, see is Blaine. Blaine, his absolutely perfect and breathtakingly gorgeous boyfriend who makes sex tapes because he can't stop _thinking_. It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for him.

"Let's go out there before Coach Davies wonders why we're not out there stretching with the rest of the class," Kurt says. He stands up and offers his hand to Blaine, who looks at it like Kurt's the best thing he's ever seen before taking it and lifting himself up.

"I love you," he says again. Kurt laughs and presses their foreheads together, twining their fingers until they get to the door that leads to the gym.

When they're running laps, the pounding of feet on waxed artificial wood and general chatter from students echoing around the gym, Kurt finally asks, "How about you come over tonight?" His words are a little halted, breaking off in places as he turns corners and concentrates on not accidentally stepping on the backs of the slow runners' shoes in front of him.

He can't take his eyes off Blaine, try as he might, because even when they're just running the same laps they do every day in gym he looks gorgeous, sweat shining on his forehead, muscles in his calves and thighs flexing in the most delicious ways that beg to have Kurt's tongue tracing the fine lines of defined muscles, his chest heaving as he takes in controlled breath after controlled breath.

Blaine looks over at Kurt and Kurt nods, slowly. He knows his face is red and he's too sweaty. He hates it, hates knowing that he doesn't look anywhere near as sexy as Blaine does when he runs. "Today?" Blaine asks, slightly out of breath.

"No one's home," Kurt says. "Convenient circumstances."

Blaine seems to catch on, then, and he falters slightly, tripping as Kurt's words sink in. "You mean you—"

"Want to acquaint you with my bedsheets?" Kurt asks. "Yes."

Blaine swallows and Kurt watches his adam's apple bob. "You're serious?"

"I'm your _boyfriend_," Kurt says with a good-natured eye roll. "Of course I'm serious." They come to a halt once the whistle blows, both breathing a little heavily. Blaine's eyes are slightly darker than they were before and Kurt doesn't miss it.

Blaine grabs the corner of his red regulation P.E. shirt and wipes off his forehead, exposing his taut, lightly-muscled abdomen and the low-riding waistband of his black shorts that exposes almost too much of the V of his hips. Kurt swallows and tries not to stare, remembering that they're in the middle of class in a school that's been known for its distaste and aversion to all things homosexual. "I want you to come home with me, Blaine," he continues, trying to sound surer than he feels.

Blaine nods and tries not to grin dopily, letting his shirt fall back down. He runs his hand along Kurt's arm, pausing for a few seconds at his hand before dropping his own arm back to his side. "O-okay."

They settle for a hug and it's like nothing ever happened.

****xxxxXxxxx****

In Kurt's room after school, they make up for everything.

Blaine pulls into Kurt's driveway seconds after Kurt shuts off his own engine. Blaine attacks him on the doorstep, hands clutching and grabbing at hair, at every different fabric of Kurt's many layers. There's not enough space between the two of them for Kurt to gasp out _neighbors _and he barely has the ability to slide the key into the lock and turn it, allowing them to stumble into the foyer, giggling and moaning like the horny teenagers they are.

"Blaine," Kurt moans when Blaine presses their hips together and _god_, he's already fully hard, thick and hot and insistent against Kurt's own wakening cock, and suddenly the flight of stairs to get to Kurt's room is way too much.

"You're so sexy," Blaine whispers, his teeth sharp on Kurt's jaw, the skin of his neck as he trails down, laving his tongue and suctioning his mouth enough to leave temporary marks that will fade before tomorrow. "I can't wait to feel you inside me."

Kurt slams Blaine against the wall, ignoring the surprised _oomph_ and the slight rattling of the framed pictures on the wall. He slips his thigh between Blaine's and drives up, circling his hips tightly to Blaine's as he kisses him deep and wet and hard, tongue swiping over Blaine's teeth, the roof of his mouth. They're panting, lips sliding together wetly, and it's absolutely the most pornographic noises Kurt's ever heard.

Blaine wraps a leg around Kurt's waist, lifting himself as much as he can and kissing him back with a desperate fervor Kurt's never felt before. A hand tangles in Kurt's hair, tugging and pulling hard but not too hard, just enough to elicit a low moan and a powerful thrust of his hips.

"We need to go upstairs," Kurt whispers into Blaine's ear, licking the lobe before closing his teeth around the flesh and tugging softly. Then he's pulling back to blow cool air on the damp skin, making Blaine shiver violently and whimper, locking his arms around Kurt's neck and rutting upward.

"I can't fuck you here," Kurt continues, nosing against Blaine's cheek. "I want you under me. C'mon."

They make it upstairs—barely, with Blaine stopping Kurt every few steps to kiss him like he's dying—and at the corner by the window Kurt almost says _fuck it_ to the bed when Blaine drops to his knees and nuzzles the front of Kurt's jeans, mouth hot and breath damp on constricting denim.

Kurt slams the door to his room once they finally enter it, already stripping off his vest and unknotting his tie and dumping them to the floor before toeing off his shoes and bending down to peel off his socks.

He looks up, sees Blaine standing in the middle of the room with mussed hair and flushed skin, semi-loose highwaters that do nothing to hide his hard cock underneath. He gets a flashback to the video, to last night when he'd sat at his chair and jerked off as Blaine jerked off.

He lets out an uncharacteristic growl and is on Blaine in an instant, undoing his bowtie and rubbing the broad of his palm over Blaine's cock, squeezing until Blaine's rocking up on his toes and moaning, clutching at Kurt's shoulders like he can't help it.

And then Blaine's shirt is fluttering to the floor, followed by Kurt's, and it's just them in jeans as they fall back onto Kurt's bed, Blaine's back to the sheets as Kurt kicks off his imitation rabbit fur throw.

Kurt presses down on him, kisses him and lets the slide of their slightly-sweaty skin pull in all the right ways. He nudges Blaine's thighs apart and settles between them, rutting up hard and sweet, Blaine's back arching and eyes squeezing shut so tightly he must be seeing spots.

"You have no idea how hot you looked on camera," Kurt says, licking and sucking at Blaine's neck, feeling Blaine's moan rumble up out of his throat. "All wanton and needy. I never pegged you for that type."

Blaine doesn't answer, just fucks his hips up and presses a palm to the back of Kurt's head as he moves down to a nipple, running his tongue in circles around before closing his mouth on the nub. Blaine keens high in his throat and pushes his chest up, gurgling out something resembling Kurt's name.

"I imagined it was me instead of that dildo," Kurt continues before he's running his tongue down the center of Blaine's torso, dipping into his navel and stopping just before the waistband of his jeans. He's so hot, _fuck_, practically radiating enough heat for a low-watt heater.

Kurt unbuckles Blaine's belt, unbuttons and unzips his jeans and pulls them down, down, until Blaine can kick them off and he's left in his aubergine-colored briefs and _there it is_, that damp spot that Kurt can't resist leaning down and licking, tongue making the fabric damper. Blaine bucks up slightly, a strangled noise escaping his mouth.

"Please," Blaine gasps, "fuck me, Kurt, oh _god_."

"In due time," Kurt responds, one side of his mouth quirking up. He cups Blaine's dick through the flimsy fabric, digging the heel of his hand in slightly before going lower to then cup his balls, feeling them hot and heavy in his palm. "I want to blow you first."

"Yes," Blaine hisses, already hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and sliding them down, Kurt moving away just enough so that Blaine can lift his legs and slide the briefs off, tossing them onto the floor to join the rest of his clothes.

It takes Kurt just a minute or so to shuck his own jeans and then he's kneeling between Blaine's spread legs, letting out a surprised breath before bending down and licking a line from Blaine's balls to the head of his cock. The smell of sex, of want and need, is stronger here, almost overpowering, and Kurt has to resist the urge to nuzzle against Blaine's sac, to just _breathe_ him in. The point of Kurt's tongue rolls around the head of Blaine's dick, a mirror of the same move Blaine had performed last night.

Blaine clutches at the sheets with a swear.

After Kurt's taken the head of Blaine's dick in his mouth, sucking hard and tasting skin and sweat and pre-come, then the fact that this is his first blowjob, given or received, hits him and his own cock throbs and twitches inside his briefs. The moan he makes around Blaine's cock is enough to have the other boy whining and squirming, hand hovering in the air like he's unsure of he wants to grab Kurt's hair or continue mutilating the sheets.

Kurt wraps his fist around Blaine's cock and pumps slowly, meeting his lips and sliding back down to the base and it's a little sloppy, a little imperfect, but neither care, both too lost in the new feel of each other, in the knowledge that they're allowed to do this now, that they _can_ and it's okay.

Blaine's louder like this, uninhibited and desperate. He lets his moans run long, lets every grunt be audible as Kurt sucks him down further, pumps him tighter and harder and uses his free hand to cup his balls and squeeze gently, trailing further back still to his perineum and then to his tight hole, trailing a dry finger around the rim to feel the muscles flutter and to hear the whine ripped from Blaine's throat.

"Kurt," Blaine finally says with a slight roll of his hips, a stuttering motion stopped early by Kurt slinging his forearm across Blaine's pelvis, "I'm gonna come, _oh_, if you keep doing that."

Kurt pulls off with a purposeful _pop_, the head of Blaine's cock sliding slickly out of his mouth and slapping wetly against Blaine's heaving abdomen. He can feel the saliva running clear trails down his skin, and when he licks his lips he can still _taste Blaine_, taste the salty skin and bitter pre-come. Blaine watches him with hooded eyes, with lips parted and red from biting and kissing.

"Fuck me," he repeats, propping himself up on his elbows.

Kurt slides off the bed without a word and walks towards his nightstand, pulling open the top drawer and shuffling aside some old _Vogue_s to reveal the bottle of lube hidden underneath the magazines. He drops his briefs, stepping carefully out of them, and then he's up on the bed, straddling Blaine's waist with a lewd grin.

"Don't worry," he all but purrs, leaning close and balancing his weight on hands splayed on either side of Blaine's shoulders, "I'll be all you can think about for the rest of the week."

He drops his hips down, rubbing bare cock against bare cock, and the electricity that sparks up his spine at the friction is nothing short of heavenly, resulting in Blaine's arms wrapped around Kurt's shoulders and his lips pressing messily to Kurt's, like he's unable to coordinate himself.

Kurt grabs a pillow and sets it under Blaine's hips before leaning back on his knees, staring until Blaine shifts uncomfortably. Kurt can tell that he's dying to make a stupid comment like _enjoying the view_ or _take a picture, it lasts longer_, but the truth is they're both nervous. This is only the second time they've been fully naked together, and the first time the lighting had been dimmer and Kurt had been the one in Blaine's position.

Words have always been Kurt's forte; from biting remarks to sarcastic comebacks he's always been at his strongest when he's speaking. It's what he's good at, what he's most comfortable in, between the sheets or not. He can spew any kind of promising filth to make Blaine squirm and beg, but acting is a whole different story.

Instead of answer Blaine's unspoken question Kurt leans down again, kisses chastely, lips to lips, and caresses the backs of his fingers over Blaine's cheek, running the tips of his fingers through a sideburn and then to the gelled hair past it. "I love you," he says softly, pulling back just enough to look Blaine in the eyes, sees hazel almost overblown with dilated pupil.

"I love you, too," Blaine replies, grabbing Kurt's hand and tangling their fingers together, feeling perfect, complete.

"I'm gonna finger you now, okay," Kurt says, brushing his nose against Blaine's before he leans back and resettles into his former position. He lubes up one finger first, warming it before drawing tight spirals around Blaine's hole, teasing before sliding in slowly.

Their hands are still together, held down by Blaine's right thigh.

When Kurt gets up to two fingers, the tightness pushing them together and making stretching nearly impossible, Blaine begins slowly moving his hips up, taking his hand out of Kurt's to squeeze at his cock. He moans softly, coming out as more of a breath than anything else, almost like a content sigh. That thought makes Kurt's heart flutter happily.

"Feels so good," Blaine murmurs, eyes half-lidded. "You have amazing fingers."

Kurt laughs, withdrawing the two he has inside Blaine and re-lubing, adding a third this time around. He gently pushes in, waiting for Blaine's slightly-pained hiss to fade, and crooks his fingers, searching until—

"Fuck!" Blaine yelps, all relaxed pleasure gone, fading and edging its way back into the desperation Blaine had been swimming in all day. "Oh god, okay, okay. Condom, like, _now_, Kurt, otherwise you're going to be watching me get off on my fingers."

"Already did," Kurt replies cheekily, stretching to reach into the drawer and grab the box he'd hidden under old scraps of fabric. "Or did you forget?"

Blaine makes a little choked-off sound and Kurt tears the condom wrapper open with a cackle, carefully sliding it on, slicking some lube down the length and giving himself a few pulls to take the edge off. "All right, you win," Blaine says, spreading his legs more, and if _that_ isn't the hottest thing Kurt's ever seen. "But I'm kind of hoping you'll prove to me why you're a thousand times better than that dildo."

Kurt motions for Blaine to wrap his legs around his waist, Blaine immediately obeying. Kurt moves his hips forward, brushing the head of his dick against Blaine's hole, sliding up and down his crack until Blaine's whining and tugging at Kurt's hair, his arm, anything he can and Kurt's laughing, bracing himself on one hand as he grabs the base of his cock with the other.

He lines himself up, pauses, looks Blaine in the eye, and begins the slow slide in. Blaine's eyelashes flutter and he makes a soft sound, a cross between pain and pleasure that Kurt knows all too well. "How's it feel?" he asks even though he knows, knows that burn and stretch and the absolutely addicting feeling of fullness when the rest fades.

"Hurts," Blaine croaks, "but feels _amazing_."

"Better than the dildo?" Kurt can't help but ask with a playful tilt to his voice.

"Way better," Blaine replies with a strained laugh, crossing his ankles at the small of Kurt's back. "This—this is what I was imagining in that video." He looks up, stares so intently at Kurt that Kurt blushes and feels even more exposed, more _naked_ than he ever has before even though his dick is currently halfway into his boyfriend's body. "Your eyes. That's what kept sticking out in my mind. I kept picturing them so dark and you staring at me so passionately."

"What else?" Kurt asks, his voice cracking as he moves forward, sliding his cock in fully and then back out to the tip. There he hovers, waits with bated breath. Blaine breaths deep, shifting and arching a little to push Kurt's cock back in, back past where his hole is stretched around just the ridge of the latex-covered head.

"Your weight," Blaine responds. Kurt immediately slides back in, picks up a slow but efficient pace that has him thrusting deep and long, fucking up into Blaine at just the right angle to brush his prostate. "You on top of me is… _fuck_, it turns me on, knowing that I'm submitting totally to you."

Kurt can feel perspiration prickling at his skin, dotting along his hairline, and as nice as this is, this isn't what he'd intended. He wants to fuck into Blaine so hard the bed creaks in that stupid, annoyingly cliché way it always does in the movies, in the way it _didn't_ when they'd had sex last weekend.

He leans down, sucks Blaine's bottom lip into his mouth before kissing him hard and moving his hips faster. "I know you want this nice and slow," he says against Blaine's skin, "and so do I, but I promised to _fuck you_, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."

He braces himself with his palms flat on the bed and bends Blaine in half, until his moans and whimpers are strained and he sounds completely out of breath. Blaine slaps a hand against the headboard when he scoots up an inch or two as Kurt thrusts hard and deep, and when Kurt brushes Blaine's prostate this time Blaine very nearly _screams_.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Blaine chants, head tipped back and muscles flexing in his arms, the way Kurt remembers from the video, from Blaine jerking himself off. "Kurt, yes, _Kurt_. Oh god, feels so good, _yes_, please."

Kurt gasps, scrunches his face up in that way Blaine always says is adorable and that Kurt doesn't see the appeal of. _Now_ the bed's creaking, the headboard lightly colliding with the wall, and Blaine's panting and writhing underneath him, begging under his breath as his cock bounces with every movement. Their skin slaps together loudly, lewd and wet and everything filthy that Kurt's absolutely growing to love.

"Gonna come," Blaine whines, both palms now braced flat against the headboard. His legs tighten around Kurt's waist, back arching and Kurt drives forward once, twice, before Blaine finally lets go and comes in hot pulses between them, moaning high and desperate as his body twitches and shakes through his orgasm.

Blaine tightening around Kurt's cock is enough to make him groan and shudder, grunting in a way that he'll deny later as he presses himself as deep as he can go and comes into the condom, pressing his forehead to Blaine's as he comes down.

"Well," Kurt breathes against Blaine's neck when he's able to speak in full sentences, the haze of arousal slowly clearing.

"Wow," Blaine agrees with a laugh, petting at Kurt's sweat-damp hair. "I guess I'm gonna have fun running tomorrow in P.E."

"I'm sorry," Kurt says automatically, sitting up and pulling out as gently as he can. He peppers Blaine's face with kisses when he inhales sharply, wincing at the sting and sudden hollow feeling. Kurt thinks about a wet washcloth but then thinks about the bathroom being in places other than the bed at Blaine's side and forgoes it. Just this once.

"Don't be," Blaine says, kissing Kurt long and slow and languid, pulling them close once Kurt disposes of the condom. They brush up against each other, oversensitive but not caring as their legs tangle and their feet brush together. Hands travel along sides, petting and stroking and taking the time to map, feel, get to know each other in ways they'll have years to do. "That was _amazing_, Kurt."

Kurt tucks himself into Blaine's side, noses his way under Blaine's jaw and hums contentedly while thinking how weird it is to have the roles reversed so, to go from their dynamic before to now, the way they're used to. "So you liked it?"

"I more than liked it."

"You _really_ liked it?"

Blaine laughs, kissing the top of Kurt's head as he cards his fingers through silky chestnut strands. "I think the 'really' definitely adds something to that sentence," he replies.

"You should make more videos if it leads to this," Kurt says lazily, the steady motion of Blaine's fingers lulling him to sleep. "Letting go feels nice."

Blaine hums and thinks about the possibilities.

Kurt, after all, really, _really_ needs to see himself come.

"Maybe," Blaine replies softly, running his fingers lightly up and down Kurt's arm. "We'll just have to see."

"Blaine?" Kurt asks. "I love you. A lot. Just to let you know."

With a chuckle, Blaine says, "Me too, Kurt. Me too."


	3. Can't Stop Staring At The Mirror

Warnings are: handjobs, blowjobs, use of a mirror (is this like my signature yet or) Title from "Pavlove" by Fall Out Boy.

Okay, I seriously, _seriously_ cannot believe that this oneshot is now over eleven-thousand words. It just shows how damn persuasive all of you are.

So, thank you, reviewers. You're all awesome and my love for you burns with the intensity of a thousand suns and I needed your kind words while I'm in a really dark place in my life right now.

****xxxxXxxxx****

It isn't a video camera, but Kurt supposes that, just this once, he'll forgive Blaine for interrupting his weekly NARS mud mask.

Thanksgiving break has just started and Kurt, anxious for a little time to relax before he has to spend all day tomorrow baking and making final dinner plans, comes home directly after school and heads up to his room. He drops his bag at the foot of his bed and strips down to his tank top, stepping into his en suite bathroom and sitting in front of the vanity. He flips the switch and all the bulbs light up, casting his face in a soft golden-yellow glow as he searches the various jars and tubes on the counter before finding the one he needs and unscrewing the lid.

He has the first palmful of the mask spread on the left side of his face when the door to his room opens. Without looking away he watches irritation spread on his face in the mirror and yells, "Dad! Or Finn, whichever, I said I was going to be busy for awhile." The door closes and Kurt gets a little more irritated because, _damn __it_, this is supposed to be his alone time, something he doesn't get a lot of anymore and that he really does need.

"It's just me."

This is definitely _not_ the voice Kurt was expecting.

He turns around in the chair and peers out the doorway, seeing Blaine standing in the middle of the room with his own school bag still slung over his shoulder. "Blaine?" Kurt asks, incredulous. It doesn't even dawn on him to wipe the product off his face. "What are you doing here? And why didn't you tell me?"

"I know you'd've said no," Blaine replies, dropping his bag to the floor and stepping closer towards the bathroom. There's something about his eyes, something darker and a little wild that makes Kurt's breath stutter and his heart thump harder. "So I just… didn't tell you. But I told Finn."

"Why—"

"I managed to convince him to get Burt out of the house for a little bit."

That wild, dark look is arousal, plain and simple, and Blaine's practically _oozing_ with need. "Please tell me you didn't bring your video camera," Kurt says on a whimper, unsure of he actually _wants_ to be filmed in such an intimate moment or not. Blaine shakes his head and finally steps into the bathroom, stopping behind Kurt's chair.

He leans down a little, hands on the back close to Kurt's shoulders. He catches Kurt's eyes in the mirror, sees blue darkened to navy, pupils dilated and cheekbones just beginning to flush rose pink. "God, you look at yourself in the mirror all the time," Blaine growls, moving a hand to stroke across Kurt's exposed collarbone, dipping under the fabric of his tank top to trace gentle fingers across bone and muscle and skin, over the light smattering of hair and the sensitive, delicate skin of a nipple, "but do you have any idea how fucking _sexy_ you are?"

"Half of my face is covered in extremely expensive product," Kurt complains, though by the end of his sentence his voice is considerably higher as Blaine inches his hand down Kurt's torso, stopping right at the waistband of his jeans. "_Blaine_, at least let me finish this…"

"No," Blaine replies, his lips hot on the clean side of Kurt's face. He grabs a tissue and hands it to Kurt. "We don't have a lot of time. And I'll pay you back for the wasted mud mask, promise. I just want to do this so _badly_, Kurt."

Kurt wipes the product off with a shaky hand and tries not to make _too_ much noise when Blaine turns his attention to the little sensitive patch of skin behind Kurt's ear, alternating between kissing and licking until Kurt's shuddering and making little moans.

"You're absolutely beautiful when you come," Blaine says, words hot and intimate into Kurt's ear. Kurt flushes darker and bites his bottom lip when the hand Blaine still has on the top of Kurt's jeans trails even lower, palm brushing over where Kurt's dick is taking too much interest. "You need to see it."

"Blaine," Kurt whines, trying his best to keep his hips still and his ass flat on the chair. "Blaine, come on. I—I don't want to see."

"Yes you do," Blaine says, kissing down Kurt's neck. He finally steps around to the front of the chair, swinging a leg over Kurt's so that he's straddling him. Kurt gasps softly and latches onto Blaine's hips as he tucks his legs up next to Kurt's, hands on his cheeks as they look at each other.

"No," Kurt says, but his voice wavers. Blaine doesn't miss it and smirks, rubbing his thumbs over Kurt's cheekbones before leaning in to kiss him, hot and deep and dirty with too much tongue and saliva and changing angles. Kurt can feel Blaine hard against him and knows he's in the same state; bringing his hips up into Blaine's isn't _entirely_ his fault then, he concludes when Blaine moans in that wanton _fuck__ me_ way of his.

"I'm not going to fuck you," Blaine says and Kurt almost, _almost_ laughs because since when is _that_ a punishment? Blaine sees the corners of Kurt's lips twitching and isn't far into catching on. He laughs and nuzzles Kurt's nose with his own, saying, "I know, I know. Don't even say it. What I _wanted_ to say was, I won't fuck you, but I really, really want to jerk you off."

They haven't gotten very far with handjobs—Kurt really feels like they did everything back asswards with having sex before any of the other small stuff—and since the video and Kurt introducing Blaine to his luxurious 1500-thread-count sheets they've had maybe one more moment to themselves that they reserved for blowing each other, getting better acquainted with the things they could never do to themselves, learning taste and feel, smell and the sounds when they were about to come.

"I can see you breaking," Blaine says, sitting back on Kurt's thighs. "You're going to say yes."

"You're not hypnotizing me," Kurt snaps, but he sighs and finally nods, trying his best not to roll his eyes when Blaine grins wide and kisses him once more before standing up and motioning for Kurt to do the same.

Blaine pushes the chair out of the way and stands behind Kurt. They're reflected back to each other, Blaine's chin hooked over Kurt's shoulder and his eyes a dark smolder that makes Kurt squirm. Blaine pushes, tugs and pulls at Kurt's tank top until it's bunched up underneath his arms and his nipples are bared, still flat and pink. Blaine remedies the situation quickly by rubbing his palms over Kurt's chest, Kurt rocking into the pressure with a low moan, eyes sliding shut and head tilting back.

"Mmm," he breathes. "_Blaine_, god."

"Look," Blaine demands, slightly out of breath himself.

Reluctantly, Kurt does, taking in his reflected self, looking at the wide, wide ways his eyes are staring back, at the open-mouthed pant he was unaware he was doing. He looks like he's well on his way to being absolutely wrecked, to coming apart under Blaine's touch and he _loves __it_.

"Beautiful," Blaine says.

When Blaine presses closer Kurt can feel how hard he is, feel the pressure of his dick against the swell of Kurt's ass and he can't help but rock back against it, wanting more while at the same time waning a lot less.

Then it's Blaine's hands on the button of his jeans, Blaine undoing both button and zipper and sliding tight denim down as far as he can, leaving Kurt in his briefs and too turned on to really even care that he's half-naked and Blaine is still fully clothed.

Blaine slips his hand into Kurt's briefs and pulls out his cock, stroking roughly a few times until Kurt's keening and moaning, bringing an arm up and grasping his hand loosely at the back of Blaine's neck. His tank top slides down slightly.

"You need to look," Blaine chastises, halting his movements until Kurt opens his eyes and stares, trying steadfastly to ignore Blaine's fist wrapped around his cock. He tries to ignore, at least, until Blaine takes that hand and brings his palm up to Kurt's face and says, "Lick."

Kurt does and he _tastes_ himself, tastes skin and sweat and his own pre-come and it's somehow not gross in the slightest. He loves it, moans and wants to lave his tongue around every single one of Blaine's fingers, but just as he's getting into it Blaine pulls away and when Kurt looks in the mirror this time it's Blaine who looks wrecked, chest heaving and eyes rounded and unblinking. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and Kurt unconsciously mirrors the movement.

Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt's cock again, the slick slide of added lubrication making Kurt's toes curl and his eyes slide shut until he remembers to open them, to watch and stare and learn.

"The way you get all flushed," Blaine says, pressing a wet kiss to the side of Kurt's neck, biting and sucking the skin until it purples and Kurt's moaning and thrusting into Blaine's fist. "I love it."

"I love _you_," Kurt responds with a gasp as Blaine's thumb swipes across the slit. "Oh, fuck, I love you so much, Blaine."

Blaine brings his free hand up to Kurt's lips and without hesitation Kurt takes three of Blaine's fingers into his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue around them, eyes locked on Blaine's in the mirror as he hums and moans. When Blaine thrusts his fingers gently Kurt's dick jumps in his hand, his hips moving forward as he thinks about what _other_ things could be fucking his mouth.

It's the picture of debauchery, three fingers in Kurt's mouth and a hand on his cock, jeans and briefs pushed down to mid-thigh and tank top hiked up to just under his armpits on one side, mid-torso on the other. He's sweating, hot and skin flushed red, heart pounding wildly as he feels his orgasm approaching. He grinds back onto Blaine's crotch, feels rough denim scratch at the soft, bare skin of his ass, feels Blaine hard, so hard, hot and damp and _Jesus_, he's never wanted someone in him so badly before.

He wants to look away because it feels weird, like he's looking in on himself, as if he's invading like all those porn movies he'd never watched. But with Blaine's panting breath in his ear, the tight-slick stroke of his hand and the stuttering motion of his fingers moving in and out of the wet heat of Kurt's mouth, he can only _watch_.

Kurt moves a hand behind him, presses his palm hard onto Blaine's cock and curls his fingers the best he can around the trapped length and squeezes, pulsing his fingers slightly. Blaine moans, driving his hips forward and pressing the back of Kurt's hand against his own ass.

"Kurt," Blaine says, gasps, and then his fingers are leaving Kurt's mouth and his hand is leaving Kurt's cock and "_What_?" Kurt asks blearily, droopy-eyed like he's just been woken up. His lips are slick with spit, Snow White-red, and his breathing is erratic.

"I'm gonna suck you off," Blaine says and then he's in front of Kurt, kissing him hard before dropping to his knees fluidly, perfect like Kurt's always imagined another boy doing _for_ him, _to_ him. He takes Kurt's cock into his hand, runs teasing fingers up and down the length before he's sliding his mouth down over the head, sucking hard and wrapping a hand around the base to pump quick and fast.

Kurt moans; he can't help but do anything other than that. In the mirror it's just him now, just his flushed skin and red mouth and pushed-up tank top that immediately slides down when he reaches down. He tangles his fingers in Blaine's hair, works past the copious amounts of gel and forgets watching himself for a few minutes as he focuses on Blaine's head bobbing, only his dark curls visible in the reflection.

It's so incredibly, mind-numbingly _hot_.

"Fuck," he says, whines and rocks forward, "gonna come, Blaine, _oh_."

Blaine hums and takes him deeper, goes until the head of Kurt's cock hits the back of his throat. He laves his tongue in hot swatches along the underside, pulls back just enough to tongue the head and the spot under the ridge on the underside and Kurt's mind is buzzing, staticky; his grip tightens in Blaine's hair and the moment he locks eyes with his reflection he's coming with a shout.

Blaine swallows, something he hadn't done before, as if Kurt's legs _already_ weren't complete jelly. He rocks back on his heels and Kurt's pulling him up, kissing him, tongue sliding along the roof of Blaine's mouth, the soft insides of his cheeks, seeking that taste of himself that he apparently can't get enough of. His hand is a tight fixture on Blaine's bicep.

"You're filthy," he says against Blaine's lips. Blaine laughs.

"This is what you do to me," he says, running his palms over Kurt's shoulders, touching every inch of him that he can like he's dying, aching for it. "I just want to do filthy things to you. I can't be held accountable for my actions when you so much as _breathe_."

Blaine steps back to allow Kurt room to pull up his briefs and jeans, but when Kurt reaches for the button on Blaine's jeans Blaine shakes his head with an embarrassed grin. "When you stop being so sexy I'll stop coming in my pants."

Kurt, to his split-second horror, snorts. He kisses Blaine consolingly and says, "You can borrow some of my jeans before my dad and Finn come home. The last thing I want them to see is you with a nasty wet spot."

He turns to head to his closet when Blaine hand closes around his wrist. With an eyebrow raised in question he turns back to face Blaine, words dying on his lips when he sees Blaine's expression.

"I'm sorry if I pushed some of your boundaries," Blaine says and he looks so sad, afraid that he's somehow pushed Kurt away, "but I couldn't help myself. You never believe me when I say how gorgeous or stunning or perfect you are and this was like a last-ditch effort to get you to believe me."

"Between the video," Kurt says, "me fucking you on my bed, and this, I think I might believe you."

Blaine's grin curves up sharp and fast, like it's a relief and he presses his forehead to Kurt's and says, "Thank _god_."

Thank god indeed.


	4. Turn Off The Shyness

Warnings are: mutual masturbation, the return of the video camera, facials, blowjobs. Title from "Of All The Gin Joints In All The World" by Fall Out Boy.

This fic is well over 14,000 words now, oh my god. So persuasive you all are. I really don't know if I'll continue it after this, though. Maybe ..

Reviewers, just .. thank you. Thank you all so much for your beautiful reviews and your kind, kind words while I was going through what was probably the worst week of my life. They really helped and I wish I could thank each and every one of you face-to-face.

****xxxxXxxxx****

It's funny how much more comfortable things get once a relationship opens sexually. Kurt doesn't hesitate to reach over and hold Blaine's hand anymore, no matter where they are; when they sit together in the choir room during glee rehearsal their chairs are maybe a little bit closer, their shoulders are maybe touching and they _may_ smile a bit more than they used to.

No one says anything, but Kurt thinks they'd have to be absolutely blind not to notice.

They go for weeks like this, from their last encounter in mid-November all the way to Christmas break, when the snow falls every now and then and Christmas decorations are up in all the windows and blinking bright reds and greens. It's cold, breath fogging up when you breathe and a snow-ice mixture crunching underfoot as people walk from shop to shop looking for gifts.

Kurt and Blaine head to the Lima Bean, gloved hand in gloved hand, noses and ears red but hearts light and spirits floating. Kurt can't help but linger on the fact that this is their _first_ Christmas as a couple. This is the first time the gifts that they buy and exchange will mean a lot more. Kurt's been shopping for weeks, looking in every window and hoping he'll find the perfect gift.

He's found one, and he _hopes_ it's good enough—nothing will ever be as good as Blaine just _being there_, letting Kurt love and kiss him like it's the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life, and maybe that's true. Maybe it's what he wants more than a solo at a competition, more than a leading role on Broadway: Kurt just wants love, wants a partner and warmth to come home to every day.

What Kurt really wants to give Blaine falls way before Christmas, and try as he might he can't help but flush a little at the thought of it. Blaine glances over when they stop in front of the Lima Bean's glass double doors, expression curious and a lot happy, looking like he wants to kiss Kurt, hold him close and just _be_.

They can't, though, and Kurt gives him a sad smile back as he opens the door he's standing in front of, the rich smell of freshly-ground coffee and cinnamon and dough gusting out into the frigid winter air, engulfing and inviting. This is the smell of familiarity, of all their good and bad memories as friends and boyfriends, teammates and shoulders to cry on.

Kurt nudges Blaine's shoulder gently and they walk in.

The warmness of the coffee shop does quick work of thawing their frozen fingers and cheeks, and as Kurt peels his gloves off and stuffs them in the pocket of his peacoat Blaine steps close and works his hand up under the heavy wool, resting icy skin against the warm fabric of Kurt's t-shirt.

"Cold," Kurt hisses, but he's smiling and leaning into the touch. They stand like that in line, silent and oblivious to everyone around them as they share secret smiles and communicate without words or gestures. They just know now, know what the other's thinking and when, and it's horribly cliché but Kurt craves it, loves it and is so glad that, for once, things worked out for _him_.

"We should get one of those cute gingerbread cookies," Blaine whispers, leaning in close—probably too close—to Kurt's ear, his breath hot and still minty from the gum he spat out an hour ago. "I'll get the arms and you can have the legs."

"Who gets the head?"

"Whichever of us is luckiest," Blaine replies with a cheeky wink and oh, it's their turn to order now and suddenly all thoughts of Kurt's coffee order has vanished from his brain to be replaced by the tantalizing image of Blaine on his knees, Kurt's dick in his mouth, lips stretched and red and slick with saliva. It takes all he has in him not to whimper and to keep a steady voice when he orders his usual and one of the large gingerbread men that are the Lima Bean's winter specialty.

Back at their table, hot coffee cups warming their palms and decimated cookie in crumbs on the little china platter, Kurt decides that it's now or never. He leans over the table, brushing a few spare crumbs from the corner of Blaine's mouth, and sits back down. Blaine's face flushes and he quickly looks down at the lid of his coffee with a smile fighting its way onto his face.

"So," Kurt begins, suddenly nervous and feeling like he did back when he and Blaine had just begun to talk, fingers drumming against the side of the cup, "I wanted to ask you something."

Blaine looks up immediately, mouth open like he wants to say something before he catches himself and nods instead. "Yeah?"

"It's about—about the video."

Blaine inhales and takes a sip of his coffee; Kurt watches his throat work as he swallows. "What about it?" Blaine asks, his voice a little shaky, his hands a little shaky.

Kurt breathes deep, steels himself and continues because he _wants_ this, yes he does, wants it more than anything before. "The original premise was for me to see what you looked like when you jerked off, right?"

Blaine nods and bites his lower lip.

"Well, I—I wanted to do the same for you," Kurt says with a blush. "Just… not on camera. Here. In the flesh. On my bed."

Blaine's mouth opens, closes, but he can't speak. Kurt looks at him apprehensively, carefully searching his face. The move was undoubtedly bold, definitely not something that Kurt would usually do, but he _wants _to so badly it's like it aches from behind his eyes all the way to his balls.

"Like…" Blaine says, hands gesturing uselessly. Kurt fiddles with the lid of his coffee cup, biting his lower lip and trying not to squirm in his seat. "Like, you mean mutual masturbation."

Kurt feels the tips of his ears heat. "I-if you want, yeah. T-that's good."

Blaine takes a swallow of his coffee and stares at a spot behind Kurt, eyebrows creased in concentration. "But we don't have to," Kurt is quick to add, reaching over the table to cover Blaine's hand with his own. "I just figured that since you did it… for me, that I could do it for you. In a way."

Blaine flips his hand so that they're palm-to-palm and catches Kurt's eye. He's smiling warmly, fondness mixed with a slight bit of arousal. His eyes dance and he says, "Of course I want to. I'd have to be crazy not to want to."

Kurt breathes out, shoulders relaxing as he exhales. He gently squeezes Blaine's hand and returns the smile. "Tonight, then? My house?"

Blaine raises their entwined hands and kisses the back of Kurt's, soft lips passing over each knuckle while he says, "I look forward to it."

****xxxxXxxxx****

They end up making out on Kurt's bed, shirts off and jeans pushed low. Kurt's breathing heavily into Blaine's mouth, Blaine's breathing heavily into Kurt's mouth, hands clutching at backs and thighs and hips as they roll and drag the comforter with them.

It ends up with Kurt straddling Blaine, pressed so tightly he can feel Blaine's heart beating against his chest, feel his ribs expand with each labored breath. "You're so hot," he whispers, kissing down Blaine's neck. "God, I can't stop thinking about you."

Blaine extends his neck, exposes smooth, tanned skin and makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. His hand works its way into Kurt's hair; his hips push up and they both moan softly, Kurt's tongue hot and wet along Blaine's clavicle, his voice vibrating and burrowing its way deep into Blaine's skin, worming its way around his heart and making it flutter.

"I want you," Blaine whines, hand grabbing at Kurt's pale, bare shoulder now. "Oh, _shit_."

Kurt licks around a nipple, tails wet kisses across Blaine's chest and works on the other one before moving down in a wet swipe, Blaine's abdomen fluttering and tensing as he works his way through the sparse, dark hair and to the waistband of his jeans.

"I think I'm gonna get naked now," Kurt says, straightening up and trying not to cross his arms self-consciously over his torso. Blaine sits up, watches Kurt with dark, unassuming eyes.

It should be okay because this is _Blaine_. They've been intimate before, they've had sex, they've done things, and this isn't really weird. Blaine's bared a lot more than Kurt has, and, if Kurt wants to be honest, leveling the playing field seems much more appropriate now, insecurities be damned.

"Maybe you should," Kurt starts, voice cracking and petering out at the end. He clears his throat and says again, "Maybe you should kneel over there and I'll kneel over here."

Blaine nods, pulling Kurt in for a quick, sweet kiss, and shuffles off toward the foot of the bed, fingers already working on the button and zip of his jeans.

Kurt closes his eyes briefly then undoes his own jeans, sliding them down his thighs, off a leg at a time, until finally they land to the floor in a heap of dark-wash denim. When he looks up Blaine is in the same state, briefs pulled tight across his straining cock and Kurt wants to touch, feel the hard, smooth skin hot and pulsing under his palm, in his mouth. But not this time.

"You're beautiful," Blaine says, already sliding a palm into his underwear. Kurt watches the fabric conform around Blaine's knuckles, watches it move as Blaine jerks himself slow and short. "You're beautiful and sexy and _god_, Kurt, let me see your cock, please."

Kurt hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his own briefs, catches Blaine's eyes and smiles, and then he's pulling them down, lifting his legs one at a time and wobbling slightly, enough to make his recently-free cock bounce and Blaine's gaze to direct at it in aroused fascination, and Kurt tosses his briefs to the floor to land on his jeans.

He takes himself in hand, sighs at the friction of skin and skin, of the dryness of his smooth palm sliding up and down the length. "Perfect," Blaine says, voice held in a note of awe as he finally pushes his briefs down enough to free his cock and balls and fuck, Kurt will never get over how beautiful Blaine is, how thick and dark and fucking _perfect_ he is in his hand.

"Move," Blaine whispers, snapping Kurt out of his thoughts. Kurt registers the familiar slapping, knows without looking—he knows; they both _always_ know everything—that Blaine is jerking himself off. "You need to move, Kurt."

So Kurt does. He does and his body floods with heat, with pleasure and he stares at Blaine, stares and pants and watches Blaine's own hand move. This is hot, so hot, just the knowledge and visual that they're here, doing this together, but they can't touch.

Kurt thumbs over the head of his cock, dips his thumb into the slit to gather the moisture. A high moan rips its way out of his throat and he's suddenly possessed with the urge to do more, to show Blaine what he's _really_ like under the cover of the darkness and his own sheets.

Kurt's breath hitches, skips a beat and goes up at the end in a high whine when he squeezes. His thighs tremble as he tightens his grip on his cock. "Blaine," he gasps, eyes sliding shut, left hand moving down to cup his balls, sliding further back to rub his perineum and trace lightly over his hole.

"Lie back," Blaine says suddenly, stilling his own hand as he shuffles forward, briefs gone and Kurt wonders when exactly he got rid of them because he doesn't remember it one bit. "I want to see you come all over your stomach."

Kurt groans, head lolling back, fist squeezing tight around the head of his cock but he obeys, shuffles backwards and lies against the pillows, spreads out and strokes his cock quickly. His hips twitch up, he squirms, and his hand fumbles blindly on the covers until Blaine gets the hint and grabs Kurt's hand, interlacing their fingers.

"_Oh_," Kurt keens, working his hand faster, the sounds becoming slicker and filthier when he thumbs over the slit again and spreads the pre-come. His cock is slick and shiny and flushed pretty red-pink as it disappears in and out of his fist. "Mmm, Blaine, _god_."

"Yeah," Blaine murmurs a little desperately, transfixed. "Just like that."

Kurt arches his back, spreads his legs and slides his left hand from Blaine, pushes it between his legs and rubs at his perineum, over his hole before squeezing one of his cheeks, gasping and pushing into the pressure. "Fuck," he moans, "_fuck_."

With a strangled sound and a quick flick of his wrist near the head of his cock Kurt is coming in thick streaks over his fist, splashing down over his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut, digs his head back into the pillows and tries his best to focus on breathing.

The bed dips and wiggles but Kurt's too sated, eyes still closed, to wonder what Blaine's doing. It's not until he hears the _ding_ that he opens his eyes and sits up, coming face-to-face with the unfriendly round black lens of Blaine's video camera.

"Blaine!" he yelps, scandalized, torn between wanting to uselessly cover himself up or running off to the bathroom until Blaine puts the damn thing away.

"C'mon," Blaine says, holding the camera in both hands, his still-hard cock jutting from his body. "No one will ever see this but us, I swear. You should… clean yourself off."

It takes a second, but Kurt finally catches on when he feels the sticky, cooling weight of his semen drying on his hand. "You're disgusting," Kurt replies, but he lifts his hand to his mouth nonetheless, looking into the lens for only a second before darting his tongue out to lick, and okay, it's slightly gross, but just knowing that this is on camera now, will be until they erase it—if that happens—makes everything somehow better, sharper and brighter and heightened in a thousand different ways.

Kurt leaves the come on his torso as he crawls over to Blaine, propping up on his knees as he pushes the camera away for a second to kiss him hard; Blaine groans and pulls Kurt impossibly closer as he licks into his mouth.

"I'm gonna blow you," Kurt says, so close still that his lips brush against Blaine's with every word that he speaks. The room smells like sex and sweat and Kurt wants to add more, add as much as he possibly can. "And you'd better film it."

"Okay," Blaine squeaks. Kurt drops down to his hands and knees, holding himself up with one arm while he fists his right hand around Blaine's cock before taking the head into his mouth.

"_Kurt_," Blaine says, threading his fingers into Kurt's hair again as he goes deeper, sucking hard before bobbing his head in a steady rhythm. A little twinge of self-consciousness still tugs at the back of Kurt's and as he thinks about how exposed he is, eyes closed and back dipped toward the bed, ass pushed up slightly and cock attempting to harden with each harsh pant Blaine lets out.

He lower his head further, going until his lips meet his hand and he hollows his cheeks on the slide back up. He sucks hard on the head, tongues the slit and the spot under the ridge until Blaine's squirming and begging, hips bucking forward slightly but not too much.

"Hold on." Blaine's voice is a gasp and his fingers tug gently on Kurt's hair to get him to pull off. Kurt does, letting Blaine's cock slide out of his mouth, and he looks up questioningly, tilting his head to the side.

Blaine runs his hand down Kurt's face to cup his chin. They lock eyes, speak silently, Kurt's hand still on Blaine's dick, and Blaine asks, softly, "Is it okay if I come on your face?"

Kurt glances up, looks into the lens and looks away, blushing. He swirls his thumb around the head of Blaine's cock absentmindedly, Blaine shuddering and groaning low. "Y-yes please," Kurt says quietly, voice soft and unsure and so, so innocent that it makes Blaine's toes curl.

He laves at Blaine's cock, licking kittenishly along the length, nuzzling as he moves down toward the base. With his hand on Blaine's thigh he can feel how badly he's quaking, wonders how shaky the footage is going to be, then tries not to groan when his own still-spent dick gives another painful jump at the thought of watching this later, of watching it with _Blaine _and maybe jerking off side-by-side with their thighs and arms brushing, touching like it's all they can do, maybe looking over at each other as they come, legs finally draping and tangling together.

He moans, then, just a little louder and more lewd than he normally does, and fists his own awakening cock with the hand he isn't propping himself up on. Blaine murmurs something, a short sentence that sounds like "_Yes_, Kurt, yes, baby," and Kurt wonders if he's doing it for show, too, for their own pleasure when they watch this later.

Blaine's free hand wraps around his cock, an unspoken signal, and Kurt pulls back to sit on his heels, blinking rapidly, still innocent like he doesn't know, like it's a bad porn and Kurt plays the part _so well_. A grin tugs at the corners of Blaine's lips, though with the camera in the way Kurt can't really see it. Blaine jerks himself hard and fast, rough like he does when he's close and desperate, and Kurt closes his eyes, opens his mouth and lets his tongue hang, glistening and pink.

Blaine grunts, moans, falls silent until he's close, close, _coming_ with a low noise. Kurt squeaks when strings of Blaine's semen land on his face, across the bridge of his nose and his high cheekbones. He feels it on his eyebrows, dripping down to his eyelids, and tastes it on his tongue, feels it stringing from his lips. In the back of his throat he whines; on the bed he squirms, wanting more, more.

Camera still on, red light still blinking, Kurt blinks carefully, looks up and runs his tongue along his lips. He traces a cooling line with a finger and brings it to his mouth, sucking it in and cleaning it off and tasting Blaine, tasting sex and wondering where all this confidence, this urge to tease and please, is coming from.

He likes it, though, he likes this new side of himself and apparently Blaine _really_ likes it.

"Jesus Christ, Kurt," Blaine groans, voice sex-rough and wrecked. He lowers himself from his knees to a sitting position, camera still focused on Kurt. "What porn have you been watching?"

"Just the ones you make," Kurt replies breathily, staring directly into Blaine's eyes, into the lens and he winks, face still covered in white strands of semen and feeling sexier and more sure of himself than he ever has. He feels _beautiful_.

"If I die," Blaine says, "it's because of you and the sheer amount of sexiness you exude without even trying to."

Blaine runs a finger along Kurt's cheek, Kurt's skin prickling in its wake, and brings it to his mouth. Kurt watches wide-eyed, lips parted, and this is ridiculous, so, so ridiculous but it's amazing at the same time.

"I love you," he says, knocking the camera out of Blaine's hand and crawling over to him until he's close enough to frame Blaine's face with his hands. "I love you so much, Blaine Anderson, and I don't think I'll ever stop loving you."

Blaine kisses him, then, kisses and holds them together, close, and while the camera records the thread count of Kurt's sheet Blaine whispers back, "I love you, too."


	5. In Between My Sheets

Warnings are: mutual masturbation (again), use of a sex toy, minors watching videos made by minors, a wee bit of dirty talk, and conversing about future sexual acts. Title from "It's Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine. I Am Thinking It Must Be Love" by Fall Out Boy.

On Word this story ended at exactly 20K. I'm so pleased. But let me repeat: It ended at _20K_. Holy shittake mushrooms. This was seriously supposed to be a 4,000 word one-shot but you guys are all too awesome, apparently, for me to have kept it as that. This looks like the end this time (I swear), so thank you for reading and reviewing and favoriting and all that other crazy stuff that you kids do nowadays.

So, reviewers of this and every other story, thanks.

****xxxxXxxxx****

Christmas comes and goes far too quickly in a blur of cold and brightly-colored paper, warmth and laughter and good, fattening food. Kurt _loves_ that he knows what a full family feels like again, that he can see his dad sitting happily on the couch next to Carole like she's always been there, like she'll _always_ be there.

The nights leading up to it had been full of heavy blankets and steaming mugs of coffee or hot chocolate overflowing with frothy whipped cream, Kurt playing footsie with Blaine while they lay wrapped up together on the couch under an old maroon fleece blanket watching Christmas movies. Carole would be on the settee in the corner with a smile on her face as she alternated between watching them and watching the movie.

It is, in all purposes of the word, heaven.

Kurt bakes and Blaine hangs around him in the kitchen, stealing finger swipes of dough from the bowl or chocolate chips from the perfectly-measured glass cup on the counter. Kurt catches him every time and playfully swats him with the dishtowel, checking around to make sure that Carole's still watching the news and that Burt's still drinking his beer before leaning in and licking a little bit of molasses cookie batter from the corner of Blaine's mouth, sucking his plump lower lip into his mouth just to hear him whine and come closer like he's on a tether.

Blaine's eyes shine and he looks so adorable in his red cardigan and gray skinny jeans that Kurt has never been so glad to have this boy in his life than he is right now. He knows that Blaine doesn't have much of a home life like this and he's glad that he can provide the quintessential festive holiday cheer.

They exchange gifts on the twenty-third and call each other at midnight on the twenty-fifth to whisper "Merry Christmas, I love you" and silently wish that they could be together. Christmas day is spent opening presents, driving back and forth to family's houses and texting each other whenever they each have a free moment. Kurt discovers that he really likes Carole's extended family—even though he'd met them all last year—and that Blaine absolutely hates everyone but his aunt in his dad's extended family.

They're both happy but lonely, aching in a way that can only be described as pure yearning.

New Years Eve is when Blaine calls him up to mention that his dad is going to some party out of town with the firm and probably won't come back until the following afternoon. He doesn't seem like he's trying to snag some much-needed alone time after the holidays, but Blaine can be very subtle when he wants to be and, let's face it, they _need_ the alone time.

It may have something to do with the fact that this is their first New Years as a couple and their first New Years where they actually have someone else to kiss as the ball drops in Times Square, and this excites Kurt most of all. He imagines the both of them maybe a little fuzzy-headed on Blaine's dad's champagne that they'll inevitably steal, arms wrapped around each other as they kiss and the crowd cheers on TV and the New Year feels new and completely _promising_.

Then he'll lean back and their lips will be only millimeters apart and he'll whisper, "Here's to our first full year as a couple." He'll get misty-eyed and Blaine will get misty-eyed because he's nothing if not optimistic in that their relationship will last distance and time and Sebastian and everything else that could possibly be thrown their way because they're _in love_ and that's how it's supposed to be.

Blaine's taught him so much, and sure, he'd been out and proud for years now, but there's a difference between saying you like boys and actually liking a boy that very much likes you back. There's something different, something brighter, about waking up in the morning to a text that's only a heart or an _xo_ and having warm fingers to thread between your own when you're in class or walking down the street. It's the knowledge that those _looks_, those smiles, are just for you and not for anyone else.

_"So what do you say?"_ Blaine asks. _"Want to come over and watch the ball drop in Times Square?"_

"I have an idea," Kurt says, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he reaches down to pick up one of his textbooks, looking at it before he places it on the desk. He thinks about making a joke involving Blaine's poor choice of words but bites his tongue when he thinks about _Sebastian_ and how that's something he'd do, and no, Kurt does not want to be thinking of that rejected meerkat freak when he's picturing Blaine naked. "Do you still, um, have our, ah… videos?"

It takes a minute, but Blaine finally clears his throat on the line and answers, _"Yes,"_ in a voice that's much, much higher than usual. _"I'd have to be crazy to do away with then. Why? Are you having second thoughts?"_ His voice suddenly flips like a switch over to anxious and panicked and if Kurt doesn't start talking now Blaine will _never_ shut up.

"No. No way." Kurt sucks in a breath and sits at his chair, crossing his legs and thinking back to that time only a month or so ago when Blaine had handed him a seemingly-innocuous disc and told him to watch it. It's a little bit crazy how far things have come between them, how it's all gone from their first time, slow and gentle and nothing but lovemaking, all the way up to their experience early last week where it had been raw and sexy and messy but still so, so beautiful because it was them expressing their love and every single one of their desires for the other.

He loves how _in love_ he is, how readily he's willing to do anything, everything, with Blaine, even if it means watching a homemade tape or _making_ a homemade tape, even if it means _extending his boundaries_ because that's the only way he can think to describe it, something akin to "Kurt's Sexual Awakening" passing around in his head.

And he wants to watch, wants to be able to see Blaine on video and then look over and see the real thing next to him, shaking and sweating and lips-parted eyes-dilated skin-flushed _aroused_.

"Iwantotwatchthemtogether," Kurt gets out in a rush, clutching onto his phone tightly as he closes his eyes and listens to his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

_"What?"_ Blaine asks. He sounds a little desperate, a little breathless, disbelieving like he's imagining the words coming out of Kurt's mouth, like it's all possibly too good to be true.

Kurt steels himself, dropping his head back against his chair and staring at the ceiling for a moment. He can't believe he's doing this. He can't, but yet he _can_ because he knows things now, things he thought he'd never know, kinks he thought either of them would never have. "I want to come over and watch our videos together," he repeats, words trembling just a little, letting on just how nervous he still is.

_"A-are you—sure?"_ Blaine asks. He sounds like he's biting back a small groan and Kurt smirks triumphantly, letting all his worries and insecurities melt and slide away.

"Of course," he coos and _this_ is what gets him going, the knowledge and audible reaction that he can do these things to Blaine, make him stammer and flush and trip over his words. He _likes_ knowing that he's the only one that gets Blaine hard, that he's the only one who sees him come and hears him whimper and beg and _writhe_ like he does against the sheets.

This is also maybe sort of payback for Blaine promising him a _blowjob_ in the middle of the Lima Bean last week, but Blaine doesn't need to know that. Kurt really just wants to prove that Blaine isn't the only one who knows how to drive a man wild.

"I already know what you look like when you jerk off," he continues, drawling and idly toying with a pencil, feeling his cock begin to swell in his jeans. "So this shouldn't be much of a problem."

_"I—shit, _Kurt_,"_ Blaine groans. His breathlessness returns with a vengeance.

"So your house, tonight?" Kurt quickly changes the subject, knowing that that, in any conversation, is usually enough to drive Blaine up the wall, and he's not disappointed when Blaine sounds agitated as well as needy when he answers.

_"Fuck y—_god._ Oh god, I hope so,"_ comes Blaine's breathy reply.

Kurt hangs up and considers it a win.

****xxxxXxxxx****

Though, perhaps, Blaine wins once Kurt rings the doorbell, shivering on the Anderson's front step as wet flakes of snow accumulate on the thick wool of his coat and the thin cotton of his scarf. The moment the door is opened Kurt is yanked unceremoniously inside, bringing in swirls of snow with him, and is promptly shoved hard against the foyer wall with a surprised gasp.

The door is roughly slammed shut and then Blaine's mouth is on his with just as much ferocity, his warm fingers sliding into Kurt's cold hair and tugging, loosening the light-hold hairspray Kurt had used just before he left. Blaine's lips are a little chapped from the dry winter air and taste faintly of mint chapstick. He mouths along Kurt's jaw before biting sharply, a quick blossom of pain that Kurt barely registers before Blaine's kissing him again, a wet slide of saliva and tongue.

"Blaine, wha—mmph!" Before Kurt can get any further Blaine's leg is between his thighs, pushing upward and rubbing and oh_, oh_, that's friction on his aching dick and it feels fantastic. Blaine drops down to his knees and Kurt's coat gets tossed to the floor, his scarf following seconds later, and then Blaine is rucking up Kurt's sweater, pushing it up to his armpits to lick and suck at a nipple, then further down his torso once Kurt begins groaning and pushing his chest against Blaine's face.

"You," Blaine says, dragging his teeth over trembling, taut pale skin, "are," is muffled as Blaine drags his tongue over Kurt's ribs, "a _tease_."

There is no coherent response for that besides—"Kiss me," Kurt breathes, tugging on Blaine's hair to get him back to eye-level. "Just fucking _kiss me_, Blaine."

It's deep and wet and messy, Kurt's hand cradling the back of Blaine's head, tracing over the curve of his skull and the curls of his un-gelled hair as he fastens his teeth to Blaine's bottom lip and tugs, Blaine pushing up against him with a muffled sound.

"I think we should get to your room," Kurt says, lacking any conviction as Blaine brings a hand between them to squeeze at Kurt's dick through his jeans. "As nice as this is, I'm not grinding against a wall and coming in my pants just because you lack self-control."

"I resent that," Blaine says, kiss-red lips stretched and parted to reveal a toothy grin. "You seem to want it pretty bad."

"I want _you_," Kurt says, and it's like their thing, to voice how much they want—need—each other, like they don't already know the way their stomachs twist and their hearts flutter constantly.

They trip and stumble on the plush carpet, giggling and stealing kisses, quick swipes of tongues against lips and shallowly into mouths as they ascend the stairs into Blaine's room. Their hands grope and linger on asses and arms and belts and they're not ashamed one bit.

Kurt pulls Blaine into a long, languid kiss as soon as the bedroom door's closed, enjoying the tilt of their heads and workings of their jaws as he inhales every scent that is Blaine until Blaine is pulling back and muttering something about a bed and a laptop.

"You seriously need to lose the clothes," Kurt says, already pulling his sweater up and off, dropping it onto the chair in the corner of Blaine's room; the air of the room is already thick with desire, "and get over here _now_."

"Hold on," Blaine mutters, searching through a drawer until he finds a DVD in a sleeve. Looking quickly over his shoulder and seeing Kurt standing in the middle of the room, bare-chested and biting his lip with his cock very obviously straining against the front of his jeans, he smiles and says, "And don't start without me."

Kurt giggles, though it may be more out of nerves than his newfound coy attitude around Blaine. Sure, what they're planning to do isn't that bad—straight guys do it all the time but with less touching—and it's _nothing_ like what he'd let Blaine do last week, but it still feels terrifyingly new.

Blaine powers on his Macbook and feeds the disc to it before carrying it over to the bed, situating it near the foot with enough room for them to stretch out and not kick it. Kurt watches him climb up on the bed, shedding his shirt as he goes.

"Well?" Blaine asks with a raised brow, arms spread in invitation, olive skin glowing under the dim lamplight.

Kurt crawls up onto the bed next to Blaine, cautious of the laptop as he straddles Blaine and sucks a mark into the curve of Blaine's neck and shoulder. He inhales, smells spicy bodywash and woodsy cologne, smells sweat and feels Blaine swallow and moan softly, arms looping loosely around Kurt's shoulders as he presses his hips up, rocking against Kurt.

They forget about the laptop and the video until Kurt nudges the cool metal with his foot and pulls back with a wet smack to flop down next to Blaine, saying, "We have _got_ to stop getting so distracted."

Blaine shifts, moves down to press a few keys and QuickTime shows up and the familiar room comes into focus, empty for a moment before wet-haired Blaine appears, looking excited and nauseous at the same time. He reaches over to flick off the lamp before spreading out next to Kurt. "I feel like I should have at least put a title on this thing."

"Wait." Kurt looks over, twisting his torso and trying not to stare too hard at Blaine's perfect profile, the set of his jaw and the long brush of his dark lashes against the tops of his cheeks as he blinks. "Did you edit this?"

Blaine chews on his bottom lip, looking guilty. "Uh, yes?"

And now Kurt has the mental image of Blaine on iMovie or Final Cut Pro X going through frames and piecing them together, maybe squirming in his chair or on his bed and palming himself through his jeans to relieve some of the built-up pressure.

Kurt seriously loves him so much and then decides that he can't keep this to himself. "I love you so much."

Blaine glances over, quick, and smiles, brushing his fingers against the back of Kurt's hand.

"Did you just take a shower?" Kurt asks after a second or two, glancing over again. "I was going to ask but then I got… distracted."

Blaine snorts and nods, pushing his fingers through his dry curls. "I had been thinking about our conversation while I was in the shower—not like that, I swear—and decided to do this on a whim. I'm still not sure if I hate myself or not for doing this."

Kurt hums and seeks out Blaine's hand, clasping it in his until video-Blaine drops his pants. His heart speeds up, breath shortening and oh god, he's getting aroused next to his boyfriend while watching said boyfriend strip on video. It's surreal, it's amazing, it's _happening_ and Kurt is so glad that it is.

"I'm glad you did," Kurt whispers, voice breaking at the end as video-Blaine climbs up on the bed and slides down his briefs. "So, so, _so_ glad you did, Blaine."

Blaine reaches over and rests his hand on Kurt's groin, over his dick, fingers spreading before he's rubbing his palm lightly back and forth, sliding the denim down just enough to expose neatly-trimmed brown hair. Kurt gasps and juts his hips up slightly, head thunking against Blaine's headboard. "Oh," he breathes, wetting his lips with his tongue before he straightens up, using what little lucidity he has left to work his right arm under Blaine's and repeat the gesture, feeling heat and hard, already so _hard_.

"This feels weird," Blaine comments softly, still working his hand gently, "but I think it's in a good way." He half-smiles, glancing over at Kurt's profile, at his dropped jaw and tilted head, his closed eyes and the lovely way the line of his throat is exposed and sadly mark-free.

"Definitely a good way," Kurt replies, using his left hand to grab Blaine's chin and pull him close enough to kiss him, whining into his mouth when Blaine slips his hand lower and under, then back up, his fingers dancing around the button of Kurt's jeans. "Pants need to be off right now, I think," Kurt says as video-Blaine gives a particularly lewd moan that he remembers all too well.

"I feel really embarrassed," Blaine confesses as he moves his hands to his own jeans, undoing the button and sliding them and his briefs down his legs before tossing them to the floor, Kurt's following a minute later as he drops them off to the side of the bed. "I'm sort of getting off to myself." In the cold, blue-white glow in the room Kurt watches the flashes and flickers from the laptop displaying over Blaine's skin, stares at his hard cock resting against his navel, balls drawn up tight and heavy.

"That's fine." Kurt's voice is a little strained as he licks his palm and takes himself in hand, stroking firmly from base to tip, watching as Blaine begins to finger himself on video. "I got off to you, too."

"When did you get so cheeky?" Blaine asks, his fist now wrapped firmly around his cock as he pulls in rough strokes. It should be weirder, should make Kurt cringe a little bit and try to focus on anything but the wet smacking of flesh together only a foot or so away from him, but it doesn't. It does nothing except heighten the sensations; it sends thrills through him and makes him want to be as close as physically possible.

"When you sent me a _sex tape_."

"When you put it that way," Blaine replies, turning his head slightly to look at Kurt, "you really cheapen a sentimental gift."

Kurt scoffs but lets one side of his mouth crook up. "It was definitely sentimental if you were thinking with your dick."

Blaine looks like he wants to retort, face twisted up into what looks to be the launch of an indignant tirade about how he _never_ thinks with his dick, it's always his mind and heart, but he's stopped by his video self pulling out the dildo and bringing it between his spread legs before pausing and lifting it to his mouth.

Kurt thumbs the head of his cock, legs drawing up slightly as he keens. "_Fuck_. I still can't believe you have one of those." He hears a drawer slide open, feels the bed shift just slightly and when he opens his eyes real-Blaine is clutching the dildo in his hand, staring intently at Kurt.

He doesn't say anything, and Kurt doesn't say anything for a few heartbeats. He wonders how Blaine got it, _when_ he got it, wonders what it feels like as opposed to a real dick, and then, without really thinking the thought through he says, "I want it inside me."

Blaine chokes on his inhale and splutters, says, "Really?" and drops the dildo between them. Kurt stares down, right hand still loosely fisted around his cock. The toy is blue and of average size, no great amount larger or smaller than either of their dicks, with a realistic head and shaft. Kurt finds himself being impressed because if he were to actually buy such a thing—which he wouldn't, no way, he knows all the horror stories of parents or siblings or friends stumbling upon hidden stashes—that would be exactly what he'd buy.

"It's nice," he comments, picking it up and rubbing his thumb along one of the veins and then the smooth head, saying is casually like they're discussing accessories at a department store or paintings in the Louvre.

"Thanks, I guess," Blaine says, a hint of a laugh toying at the undertones of his voice. He opens his drawer again and pulls out a half-empty bottle of lube, uncapping it and letting a flush spread over the apples of his cheeks. "So you're sure? I—I washed it and everything, so it's clean, I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable…"

"I forgot about uncomfortable the second you gave me this tape," Kurt says, and it's not totally a lie. "I want to feel it in me and know that something that's been inside of you is now inside of me."

And Blaine groans, groans low and deep and long, the sound reverberating richly like music in the room, much better than the tinny moans his video self is making as he now works said toy in and out of himself.

Kurt lets Blaine drizzle lube over his fingers and spreads his legs, bringing his hand down to rub and feel before pushing one finger in, twisting and working until he feels ready for two, then three, fingers going deeper and deeper and brushing against his prostate occasionally as he moans and feels Blaine's eyes on him, watching raptly as his back arches and his legs crook, toes curling into the sheets.

His fingers are mostly lax on his cock; he pumps his hand only when he remembers, too involved in the notion that, along with jerking off in front of his boyfriend, he's now fingering himself, and this has gone way, way further than he had ever imagined, pre-Blaine or not.

"Feels so good," he says, voice almost a whisper, thumb rubbing just under the head of his cock. Blaine twists, pressing closer to rub his cock against Kurt's thigh, the length of him a hard, hot, _damp_ pressure against the fine hairs and pale skin.

"Can I?" Blaine asks, moving away slightly and holding up the dildo, which is now shiny with lube, shiny and glistening like Kurt remembers Blaine's fingers being in the video before they'd disappeared into his tight asshole. Kurt slides his fingers out and nods, feeling tightly-wound and yet loose-limbed. He's never done this before when jerking off, had always stopped at two, maybe three fingers but never lingered on the thought of having a prosthetic penis stretching him wide.

"Yes," Kurt whines because he knows how much he wants it, and it's so like Blaine, dapper, gentlemanly Blaine, to ask his _boyfriend_ if he wants to do something when every molecule of Kurt's bodying is screaming a resounding affirmative, when they're naked and hard in bed together, Kurt spread wantonly while a video of Blaine jerking off plays in the background.

Blaine leans over, locking dark eyes with Kurt before dropping his head down to press a soft kiss to the top of Kurt's thigh, the slight touch electrifying. Kurt feels the cool, blunt head pressing in and he nods without realizing he's doing it. Blaine slips the toy further in, going slowly, whispering words like _you're so good_ and _it feels _amazing_, doesn't it?_

When Blaine's fingertips meet Kurt's skin he lets go and pulls back, blinking an unasked question that Kurt answers with a simple tilt of his chin, and then they're leaning back, settling and watching, the dildo a half-in weight just shy of his prostate, making his skin tingle and scrunch too-tight. Kurt can practically feel Blaine's embarrassment coming off of him in waves as he falls apart on the video, hips bucking up and head tossed back as he moans and moans.

"You looked so hot," Kurt says, torn between wanting to jerk himself off or work the toy in and out of himself. He feels full, and yes, that's amazing and perfect and everything, but the dildo is just silicon. It isn't warm, it isn't moving. It only serves to stretch and make Kurt want _more_, and he's never thought of himself like this but right now? Right now he feels like an honest-to-god slut and that ends up being the thing that tips him even closer to the edge. "Jesus, Blaine, you looked so amazing that I was wishing so badly that I could have been there fucking you silly."

Blaine comes on camera and Kurt feels himself getting closer, and next to him Blaine grunts, fucking up into his fist. Kurt gets the impression that it's not just the movie they're watching even though now the video has paused for a second, faded to black, before transitioning to shaky movement and it's Kurt laying sated and covered in come, little white strands arching and streaking across his torso and then it's Kurt sucking Blaine's dick, the shot angled down Blaine's torso with all the awkward movement and sheet-filming edited away. Kurt can see little individual droplets of sweat, a little blurry from the proximity, gathered on Blaine's skin.

It's weird seeing himself like this, with skin flushed and hair mussed and lips stretched around Blaine's length, fisting pumping quick and fast and tight. He's embarrassed a little, embarrassed at how much video-him is enjoying it, but he remembers that day and remembers how _amazing_ it had felt to have Blaine's dick in his mouth and the camera focusing solely on him.

Kurt doesn't know when it happened, but now his leg is draped over Blaine's and their bodies are touching, pressed slick and tight and close. Blaine's breath is ragged and his hand sounds slicker with each pass over the length of his cock. His body shakes, vibrates underneath Kurt's leg; Kurt leans over and presses his lips to Blaine's shoulder.

Then he whimpers, begs, "C'mere, c'mere," and pulls Blaine close again, hand clenching at the back of his neck as he presses his mouth desperately to Blaine's, letting whimpers loose against his mouth, into his mouth as Blaine pants hotly and they lose themselves.

Blaine's saying "_Yes_, Kurt, yes, baby" on video and fuck, he's about to come on Kurt's face, he's about to pull back on the video and Kurt squeezes his eyes shut, remembering anticipation and warmth and the shuddering, shocking thrill that had run through him, engulfing him from head to toe as he felt come drip down the rigorously-moisturized skin of his face

"Blaine," Kurt moans. He feels Blaine go rigid against him, thighs tightening underneath Kurt's leg and then he's coming with a low moan, body trembling as come splatters against his torso and his fist, head back, tendons raised, his mouth dropped open in noiseless approval.

Before Kurt can quicken his own pace Blaine's rolling over and propping up on his knees, blocking the laptop but giving Kurt a view of the wrecked look on his face, of his tinged-red skin and his wide, dilated eyes and teeth-bitten and kiss-swollen lips parted in silent admiration. He reaches between Kurt's legs to grab the dildo and begin working it in-out quickly, roughly, angling it just right, just enough to make Kurt's back arch and his moan to be ripped out of his throat. "Oh, fuck, fuck, _Blaine_, baby, _shit_."

"The things I want to do to you," Blaine growls. His voice is lower than Kurt's ever heard it, lower than any of their fights when he'd be angry and hurt and desperate to verbally punch. "You have no idea. _Kurt_."

"Yes, yes," Kurt pants, rubbing his palm over the head of his cock, dipping the side of his thumb into the slit. "Do anything to me, I'm yours."

"Wanna fuck you," Blaine's saying, twisting his wrist as he slides the dildo almost all the way out before slamming it back in, angled just enough and Kurt _screams_, back arching up, up off the bed, feet planted on the mattress and he's coming, coming so hard he chokes on his breath and forgets everything besides the white-hot rolling rush of pleasure and Blaine's voice cajoling, milking every last drop out of him as he says _Just like that, baby, oh, yes_.

Once they're cleaned off and the laptop's put on Blaine's desk to charge, DVD carefully hidden again in the sleeve labeled "Warbler Routines to Katy Perry," they lie next to each other on the bed, communicating only by running fingertips along every inch of skin that they can.

Kurt traces the lines of Blaine's face, the perfect bow of his lips and the strong jut of his chin. Blaine trails down Kurt's long neck, over his high cheekbones, and they only smile, occasionally lean in to brush lips but never enough to fully kiss.

They're still naked when Blaine says, "So now that this is out of the way, what else do you want to try?"

Kurt bites his lower lip and flushes. "I—I don't know."

"Rimming?" Blaine asks, hand closing over Kurt's wrist. The word sounds funny coming out of Blaine's mouth, and Kurt doesn't know why since he's heard plenty of filthy things leave those lips lately. "Snowballing?"

Kurt blinks. "Snowballing?" He feels embarrassed at not knowing things he apparently needs to, and his "sex kitten" status wants to take a sudden Dow-Jones plummet back into "baby penguin."

Luckily Blaine catches on to Kurt's pained expression and smiles consolingly, propping himself up on his elbow, his hand cradling his head. "Cum-swapping," he elaborates. "Like… say I come in your mouth. You hold it, don't swallow, and then kiss me."

"Maybe. To both," Kurt says, still thinking things through. While the idea of eating Blaine's ass out is appealing and Blaine is a very thoroughly clean guy, Kurt's still stuck on it and, he's come to find out, having Blaine come on his face is much more appealing than in his mouth. "I just like the idea of being with you for right now."

Blaine nods, tilting Kurt's chin up with his finger to press a long, chaste kiss to his lips. "Think of anything yet?" he asks when they part, voice dipping into low and sultry and sending Kurt's skin to prickling in the warm air of the room.

"I want to ride you," he says automatically. "And you to ride me."

Blaine kisses him again, harder, a hint of tongue brushing against Kurt's lips. "Anything else?" he asks again, breath tickling over saliva-slick lips.

"I want to fuck you at school," Kurt breathes, and whoa, okay, he just said that. Blaine pulls back and his mouth is opened slightly, eyes rounded and Kurt wants to facepalm so, so badly right now because he hadn't meant to actually say that out loud. Exhibitionism might be a little too far, oh god, and now Blaine is going to run away…

"Me too," Blaine replies, breathy and reedy and surprised. Once he starts it's like he can't stop. "I want to finger you and suck you off and jerk you until you can't take it anymore, all with the knowledge that anyone could walk in at any moment."

Kurt feels his dick twitch feebly, already tying to get hard again, and he knows that Blaine is in the same state. It's ludicrous to believe that he's allowed to have this, allowed to be naked in a bed with a boy, allowed to bask in the afterglow and discuss sexual plans. Kurt wonders when, exactly, it was that he got so lucky.

Blaine looks close to panting already and Kurt thinks, _if just talking about that made him so hot, what would happen if I did something in class?_

They have their first period class together on Monday and they sit in the second row, sharing a desk. Kurt imagines settling his chair closer than normal under the pretense of wanting to just _be_, and then slipping his hand under the desk, walking his fingers from Blaine's knee, up his thigh, to the crease of his groin, and finally to his dick, cupping and squeezing and stroking until Blaine's shuddering and breathing heavily with eyes unfocused and brow sweating.

Kurt imagines making Blaine come in his pants in front of everyone and can't help but push Blaine onto his back, straddling his thighs and ease and kissing him, hands tight and warm on Blaine's face as he tongues at the soft flesh of the inside of Blaine's cheek.

"I love you," he says, punctuating each word with a tiny kiss peppered all around Blaine's face. "I love you, I love you, I love you, Blaine."

Blaine holds on to Kurt's hips, shifting and maneuvering and spreading his legs to let Kurt settle in between them. Kurt kisses down his neck, along his clavicle and the slope and curve of his shoulder, down his right arm and to his fingers, then repeating everything on Blaine's other arm. "I'm willing to do anything with you," he says against Blaine's skin, tongue working at a nipple until it's wet and dark and hard. He is. He's willing to try, to experiment and at least see if he'll like it before backing off and saying no.

Blaine yanks him up and kisses him, breaking away once they've begun pressing desperately against each other to say, "Perfect."

And it is.


	6. Watch Us Until We Blur

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "Alpha Dog" by Fall Out Boy.  
>Warnings are: slight use of a mirror (AGAIN), sex, blowjobs, barebacking, Blaine's mouth (AKA dirty talk).<p>

All right. This wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. It's more in a Blaine-centric POV now because this wasn't intended to be an extension of this fic, but then it kept taking me back and back here until I said _fuck it_ and made it the next installment. This story just won't let me go. At all. And I'd wanted to do vocal!Blaine for awhile, and looking through this fic I'd realised that I'd (unintentionally) sort of set it up for him to be that way, soooo, it worked out!

Reviewers, you. Are. Amazing. You sometimes elicit more awkward noises and facial expressions than a day on Tumblr.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

"Remind me again why you rented us a hotel room for the night?" Kurt asks, looking disdainfully at the shabby motel with its flickering neon sign and beat-up pickup trucks parked in the lot. He settles back against the passenger's seat in Blaine's car, looking pointedly over at him.

Blaine's sort of been asking himself the same question ever since he'd called up the motel earlier in the week to book the room. On one hand, it's because they really need some alone time and the opportunities for that has been getting scarcer and scarcer. On the other hand, it's because Blaine wants to make good on their promises to experience everything together. And Valentine's Day is coming up and Blaine's smart enough to know that this would not be a suitable present.

He'll also never admit it, but it's always been a thing for him to have sex in a cheap motel.

"Because it's part of my 'let's experience everything together' plan," Blaine says instead, turning the car off and pocketing his keys. He figures that it's the easiest explanation to actually get Kurt to go along with this. "It's tradition for the scraggly, outcast gay kids to hook up in the sleaziest motel in the worst part of town."

"I don't know where you're from or what movies you've been watching, but that does not happen around here." Kurt's tone is serious but his lip is twitching like he's fighting back a smile.

"Now it does." Blaine's grin is bright and he playfully nudges Kurt's shoulder with his elbow. "C'mon, this is an allowance for us to have completely uninhibited loud sex all night long. I thought you'd be happy." He lowers his eyelids, mustering up the sultriest stare that he can and says, "Did I ever mention that, under the right circumstances, I'm a screamer?"

"You—you mean you're…" Kurt's breathing changes, stuttered and hesitant and he looks a _lot_ more interested than he was a few minutes ago.

Blaine notices immediately. "One of those people who sound like those stupid porn stars who think it's necessary to make those 'ooh yes' noises every five seconds?"

Kurt nods, unblinking. He swallows slowly. Blaine smirks and nods, just a tiny jerk of his head in affirmation. In all honesty he sort of hates how loud he is because it can get embarrassing if he's allowed to let go completely. Most of the time it's just Kurt's name in varying pitches, lengths, and volumes mixed in with the occasional wanton moan.

It'd been why, any of the other times, he'd managed to hold back. The closest he'd come had been when Kurt had fucked him right after the video and it had taken everything he had not to scream.

And now, he sort of wishes that he _had_.

"Well, let's go," Kurt says, turning the handle on the door and stepping out. The weather is still chilly, snow and slush still gathered and unrelenting in the shadowed corners of sidewalks and buildings. The neon sign flickers on the _vacancy_, going out for a few seconds before feebly flickering back to life in a mess of too-bright colors.

Blaine steps out of the car and shuts the door, locking it and pocketing his keys. He crosses over to Kurt, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and kissing his temple. Their breath puffs up in front of them as they walk toward the scratched and battered entrance door.

The inside of the motel fares no better than the outside. It's wood-paneled and shag-carpeted, everything in muted shades of dark brown and puke green. The concierge's desk looks to be in desperate need of a staining and finishing and in the corner, half out of view and in a different room, is a small TV displaying a staticky channel that looks almost impossible to make out. It smells like mothballs and Jovian Musk and Blaine is beginning to regret having this idea in the first place.

"Really, Blaine?" Kurt asks under his breath as they step up to the desk. He looks around the room with a grimace, wincing when Blaine rings the bell. Blaine shrugs and smiles when a middle-aged woman with dark bags under her eyes and ratty mousy brown hair steps up to them.

"May I help you?" she asks. Her voice is gruff and raspy, like she's smoked one too many Virginia Slims.

"I booked a room earlier this week. Blaine Anderson," Blaine says.

The woman stares hard at them, her watery brown eyes switching back and forth between the two until Blaine's shifting uneasily and Kurt's flushing bright red. _Well,_ Blaine thinks, _if it wasn't obvious before it really is now._

The woman huffs and hands them a beat-up-looking key and all but snarls the total for the room. Blaine pays with a few worn bills and then they're heading down a dingy hallway, the carpet on the floor stained suspiciously.

"I can't believe you booked us a room _here_," Kurt grumbles, looking at the numbers on the doors as they pass them. He side-eyes a stain on the wall as they turn a corner.

"At least no one will know us here," Blaine says, stopping in front of their door. "If I had booked it _in_ Lima or Westerville everyone would know we'd stayed in a hotel to do more than just get our cuddle on."

Kurt sighs, mumbles something like "we could have just done this at _home_" but doesn't say anything else. Blaine sticks the key in the lock and turns it, pushing the door open with a creak of oil-thirsty hinges. They step into the room, looking around. "This place looks like it got stuck in the sixties."

Blaine silently agrees and stares at the retro clock, the bright-blue-and-sea-green bedspreads, and the similar curtains draping over the dirty windows. He heads into the bathroom. The walls in here are a mix between wood-paneled and cheap typical sixties wallpaper, same as the rest of the room, and everything smells like lemon Pledge. Blaine wrinkles his nose and turns on the rusting tap. The pipes squeak and the water sputters unsurely before kicking to life.

"Oh my god there's a _mirror_ on the _ceiling_. How absolutely _tacky_," Blaine hears Kurt say. He walks back into the main area and sees, sure enough, a large mirror positioned on the ceiling above the bed. Glancing over, he catches Kurt's eye.

Hell, they're in a _hotel_. If he can't do this now, he'll never be able to do it. He kicks off his shoes and bends down to peel off his socks.

"Did you want to…?" he asks when he straightens up, taking a step forward. He doesn't need to elaborate; Kurt's lips part slowly and his eyes appear to darken almost instantaneously. Blaine continues, saying, "I want to ride you." _Like your fantasy_, he silently adds, then pauses and says it out loud because, hey, they can _do_ this now, they can be open and say things like _fantasy_ and _kink_ and all those other filthy words.

Kurt sucks in a breath. "I want you on your back first," he says, "so I can blow you."

Blaine lets out a small groan and wonders if that was how Kurt had felt when he'd dropped to his knees in front of the mirror, this same rush of dizzying anticipation and hot arousal curling and coiling low, spreading out and forcing him to move as he curls his arms around Kurt's neck and kisses him deep.

Kurt kisses back with just as much fervor, placing his hands on Blaine's hips before sliding them lower, around the top of his thighs and then back to his ass. He gives a squeeze and Blaine moans into his mouth as he jerks forward.

"Come on," Blaine gasps, pulling away and clutching desperately at Kurt's lapels. He's sure that his eyes are wide and his cheeks are flushed. He pushes Kurt back towards the bed, keeping his hands on Kurt's collar as he kisses him again, going until Kurt's knees hit the bed and they fall, Blaine nestled between Kurt's spread legs.

"Kiss me," Blaine whispers against Kurt's cheek.

"Kind of already am," Kurt replies back with a soft laugh and a brief press of his lips to Blaine's. His hands travel from Blaine's broad shoulders down the well-muscled line of his back to his lumbar region, where he presses his palms and holds, grinding their hips together.

Blaine's eyes slide shut and he breathes out softly, feeling Kurt hard against him, and says, "I know. I felt like it enhanced the situation." He smiles and rubs his nose against Kurt's before flipping them over and wrapping his legs around Kurt's waist.

Blaine nuzzles Kurt's cheek because he feel like he isn't _close enough_ yet even though their bodies are pressed tight from head to toe with no room for movement; so tight that every time Kurt's breath hitches Blaine can feel the hiccup against his own torso.

"I love you like this," Kurt whispers, his breath fanning hot over Blaine's skin. "I love when you're needy and open and ready."

"I love _you_," Blaine murmurs, pressing their lips together again, brief and short but still managing to convey everything that they need to. He kisses that spot just under Kurt's ear and a shiver runs along the length of Kurt's body. "I love what you do to me."

"Will you…" Kurt trails off, biting his lip and pulling away, looking unsure. Blaine stays silent, waiting, letting Kurt figure this out for himself. Finally Kurt seems to gather up the nerves and he swallows and says, "Will you… touch yourself for me? While looking in the mirror, I mean."

Blaine tilts his head back, looks up and sees the two of them reflected in reverse motion; he meets Kurt's eyes in the glass and that's what solidifies his decision. "Yes," he answers without hesitation, though he still feels slightly weird about it. At least when he'd filmed himself he hadn't _seen_ anything.

But it's okay because they've at least come this far. They're okay now; they're comfortable with most things. This is sort of normal territory. This they've done a few times now.

This is that milestone they've both been afraid to reach for the first few months of their relationship.

Blaine tugs his shirt off, soft cotton dragging over his skin, and drops it to the floor. He undoes the button and zipper on his jeans, shimmying them down to his ankles, kicking them off and tossing them to the floor to land somewhere close to his shirt. The coolness of the room makes him shiver and tightens his nipples.

He lays his head on the lumpy pillows and hears Kurt's shirt drop to the floor in a rustle. He doesn't do anything for a minute or so, choosing instead to even his breathing and try to slow his racing heart. He doesn't know why he's so nervous, so apprehensive and yet excited.

"Touch yourself," Kurt finally cajoles, legs already spread, one on the bed and one raised, foot flat on the cheap comforter. Lower lip coyly between his teeth he's already hard, rubbing himself through his jeans and undulating his hips into the touch. Blaine wonders where the Kurt of just a few months ago has gone. "C'mon, Blaine, _touch yourself_."

Then again, he's not complaining if _this_ is what replaced it.

Blaine shifts and looks up at the mirror, sees himself spread, naked except for his boxer briefs. He can see the hard, thick outline of his cock straining against the material and this should be weird, should make him want to rethink this whole thing, but seeing himself so open, so vulnerable, with his wide eyes and flushed cheeks, it's an angle he's never seen before and he's captivated by it; he can't look away even if he tried. So he does the next best thing.

He doesn't.

He slides a hand down his chest slowly, fingers pressed together and slightly curved, just enough to let his nails catch on a nipple, in the sparse dark hair on his chest and navel. He follows that hand in the mirror, watches it trace the sharp divots of the V of his hips, down enough to finally work and slide under the waistband of his underwear. Then he's scratching through coarse hair to meet the hot, rigid skin of his cock, the head already damp with pre-come.

He moans. Kurt moans.

In the mirror it's his hand on his cock, material of his briefs stretched around the shape. He works slowly with short, tight strokes, watches his eyes half-lid and his chest rise and fall with rapidity. On the other end of the bed Kurt is whining, his voice breathy and high, and Blaine wants to look over but now he's sliding his briefs down, lifting up his hips to push them past the swell of his ass, and just as he's reaching to lift up a leg to begin sliding them off he connects with Kurt's hand and looks away from his hard cock reflected in the mirror, deep red and flat against his stomach.

Kurt wordlessly slides Blaine's boxer briefs down and off, then pushes Blaine's legs apart to settle between them. "I said I wanted to blow you," he explains softly, tucking the corner of his lips up in a smirk and setting off his dimples. He settles his palms on Blaine's thighs, caressing for a moment. A curious look passes over his face and is gone in an instant, before Blaine has time to really analyze it, and before he can even dwell on it Kurt is sliding the hand he has on Blaine's right thigh down around the outside and then under, pushing upward until Blaine gets the hint.

He crooks his leg and furrows his brows, but Kurt doesn't notice or doesn't care because now he's leaning down and trailing his lips along the soft skin of Blaine's inner thigh and _oh, fuck_, that's sensitive. A whine escapes Blaine's throat, high in register and absolutely wanton and needy, and immediately he bites his lip, trying to hold back, but he's forced to gasp loudly when Kurt opens his mouth and bites down on the soft flesh close to the crease of Blaine's thigh, sucking until the skin purples.

"Oh, fuck, Kurt," Blaine says, sliding a hand into Kurt's hair.

Kurt kisses wetly, up, up, along Blaine's balls, up the length of his cock and finally to the head, pre-come pooling at the tip and leaking onto his stomach. Kurt blinks his eyes open as he slides his mouth down over the head of Blaine's cock, tongue flat along the slit, his hand coming up to cup Blaine's balls.

Their eyes meet, Kurt's peering up through dark lashes, and he looks so fucking _sinful_ like this and Blaine doesn't think he'll ever get over seeing Kurt bent over him, head between his legs and cheeks hollowed around his cock.

Blaine's back arches and he does his best not to push up into the wet heat of Kurt's mouth even when he swirls his tongue like _that_, presses it _just so_ and sparks zigzag up through Blaine's body.

Blaine whines and clutches hard at the sheets, bunching them up in his fist and looking up, cracking his eyes open and _shit_, watching Kurt give him head, his head bobbing and hand working.

When Kurt goes lower, sucking one of Blaine's balls into his mouth, Blaine very nearly clamps his thighs around Kurt's head. Instead he wails, and even if he_ could_ help it he wouldn't, not when it feels this good.

"Shit, shit, shit," he chants, tugging on Kurt's hair now, tugging and eliciting low moans that travel quickly through his body. "Kurt, Jesus, you're amazing."

"Do you have lube?" Kurt asks and his chin is wet with saliva, his lips red and full; Blaine bites back a groan and nods, says, "In my pocket. I think."

Kurt climbs off the bed, kneeling on the floor to search through pockets. Blaine wraps a hand around his cock, sighing, and strokes languidly, closing his eyes as he draws his legs up close.

Kurt crawls back on the bed, small bottle of lube in his hand, and he raises an eyebrow once he catches Blaine's slitted, blissed gaze and Blaine just laughs, twists on the upstroke, says as Kurt's eyes trail down and stay there, "I told you, hotel room for a reason."

"I have no words," Kurt says, but he's uncapping the bottle and drizzling the liquid on his fingers, rubbing them together before settling back between Blaine's legs, nudging them a little further apart before he's slipping one finger in and Blaine's tensing and trying his best to relax. Kurt leans up and down to press his lips to Blaine's, part them and slide his tongue along Blaine's lower lip before sliding inside his mouth, tilting his head for a better angle.

Kurt gets up to three before Blaine decides he's had enough. "I need your cock _now_," Blaine says, hand on Kurt's wrist. When Kurt reaches down for what Blaine assumes to be his pants, he says, "No condom."

"But—" A crease forms between Kurt's eyebrows.

"I want you to come inside me," Blaine clarifies.

A sharp inhale, then: "Oh," Kurt says dumbly, all emotion wiped from his face, and for a few terrifying moments Blaine thinks he's fucked up, that _already_, after everything they've done and how much progress they've made he's ruined it all.

He opens his mouth to apologize, blinking rapidly to stave off those stupid tears he feels coming, and before he can even inhale to begin to speak Kurt's leaning forward and kissing him hard, teeth a sharp on his bottom lip and then his jaw as he works down and Kurt breathes "Fuck, yes" into his skin like a brand.

It's an awkward scramble of limbs when they switch places, Kurt spread out and naked on the bed, Blaine straddling his thighs and eyeing Kurt's cock where it's hard and flushed pink against the pale skin of his stomach.

Blaine grasps Kurt's cock and sinks down, muscles in his thighs twitching and eyes fluttering shut; they both gasp and hold their breath. Kurt's skin flush with Blaine's ass, the length of him hard and _bare_ inside of him, Blaine groans and begins to move.

And move.

It's not long before Blaine pushes his weight forward and grabs onto the chipped headboard, letting each slap of skin, each slide in, be all he focuses on. His cock slaps against his stomach with every thrust down until he grasps it and jerks, groaning with every twist underneath the head.

"Oh my god, yes, yes, ooh, _fuck me_, fuck me, Kurt," Blaine whines, voice lilting and breathy as he holds his hand tight on the headboard, his head tipped back and his eyes only half-focused on the mirror above them.

"Blaine, shh," Kurt warns. His voice is tight and strained, eyes rounded and darkened as he watches and stares and fucks his hips up occasionally to meet Blaine's ass with a loud slap. "Everyone's gonna hear you."

"Kind of the point," Blaine gasps, rolling his hips and grinding down, arching back slightly to shift Kurt's cock inside him. "That's why we have a hotel room."

"God, you and your"—Kurt grips Blaine's hips—"fucking _exhibitionism_ kink."

Blaine whines again, pushes up then down, cock bouncing with each jerky movement of his body, and he bends down, grabs Kurt by the back of his neck and lifts him up enough to meet him halfway in a bruising kiss. He slides his tongue along Kurt's lower lip, bites and tugs at the flesh before dipping inside his mouth, kissing wet and filthy as he works his hips, pulling up enough to feel just the ridge of Kurt's cock stretching him.

"Baby," he moans, panting now, feeling so, so close. "Yes, oh Christ, _yes_, right there…"

Kurt makes a noise in the back of his throat, something that sounds primal, like a growl; possessive, and then Kurt's biting hard at the skin of Blaine's neck, making him cry out loudly. Kurt flips them deftly; Blaine's back hits the mattress as he lets out a breathy_ oomph!_

"Keep your eyes open," Kurt says, mouth close to Blaine's ear and it's low, smoky, as he works his hips, pushing deep into Blaine. "Watch yourself like you told me to."

Blaine's hands are immediately on Kurt's back and his eyes immediately on the mirror above them, reflecting the pale lines of Kurt's body, skin tinged pink with exertion. Blaine's wrapped his legs around Kurt's waist, ankles crossed above the swell of Kurt's ass, and it's Kurt looking down at him, lips parted and eyes dilated, and Blaine looks further in the shadows of their bodies, at where his cock is lying hard and leaking against his abdomen, at where Kurt's buried deep inside, down to the base of his cock and the coarse, well-trimmed patch of light brown pubic hair.

Blaine looks up again as Kurt moves, snapping his hips forward, and then it's the slap of skin ringing out, mixed with Blaine's breathy _oh god, oh fuck_ as he rakes his nails down Kurt's back, relishing in the hiss and rough buck of the hips it elicits as Kurt arches his back and moans low, swears, _Oh Jesus Christ, fuck, Blaine_ and fucks into him harder, rougher, letting the bed creak and slam against the wall, and if anyone hears it's none of their goddamned business anyway.

In the mirror Blaine can see the jagged bright-red lines from his nails, sees them arching up ad down Kurt's back, and he feels a sense of pride that _he_ did that, that a mark from _him_ is marring Kurt's skin. Each jostle of his body draws out some sort of sound, an _uh_ or a swear, or Kurt's name in reedy vowels. Even to his own ears Blaine's voice is high-pitched, lewd, a sort of _fuck-me_ lilt that makes him flush red and feel slightly ashamed at how wide his legs are spread right now, at how much his neck his arched and his mouth is open.

This is all reflected ten feet above them.

He _loves_ it.

"Oh god, so good." He can't stop and a part of him is glad for that fact. "You feel so good, Kurt, _mm_. Oh _fuck_."

"You sound like a—like a _slut_," Kurt gasps, fucking into him harder, harder, the headboard a steady slam against the cheap-wallpapered walls. He's sweaty, they're both sweaty, droplets collecting and glistening on their skin, rolling down and dripping onto each other as they move and Kurt is _beautiful_ like this, so beautiful and let loose and uninhibited.

"_Yes_," Blaine replies, and it's like Kurt's ignited something in him with that word. "Yours, yours, _yours_, Kurt, _fuck me, please, fuck me _harder."

"On your hands and knees," Kurt demands, slightly out of breath and with his words wavering. "Up."

Blaine obeys, limbs jerky and cock aching, throbbing between his legs when he braces himself on the cheap, scratchy comforter. He hears Kurt shift behind him, feels his hands smooth down his sides and hips, along the backs of his thighs and the sensitive insides. He shakes, cries out, when Kurt rubs the head of his cock, slick with lube still, against the cleft of Blaine's ass, letting it catch on his stretched hole before sliding back up, then down, rubbing hard against Blaine's perineum. He moans, drops his head, shakes and pleads.

Kurt pushes in without warning; Blaine jerks forward, falling onto his elbows and pasting caring that his ass is thrust in the air. He needs to come. He _needs_ to.

"Fuck, right there." Blaine feels his body jolt with each thrust. Kurt's grunting behind him, the noises he makes only when he's really concentrating on bringing Blaine off. "Make me come, make me come, Kurt, _oh_."

Kurt's hands become punishing on Blaine's hips, nails digging red-purple crescents into the skin as he shifts, gives himself more leverage and fucks into Blaine hard and deep, holding there and swiveling his hips until Blaine's arching and crying out garbled words and noises that border on shrill.

Comforter in both his hands, head dipped low, Blaine feels his orgasm build, white-hot and licking at everything; Kurt shifts again, changes angles and thrusts in, balls slapping against Blaine's ass and cock brushing Blaine's prostate and he's gone, coming all over the sheets with an embarrassingly loud wail that's only two notches below a full-fledged scream.

He feels Kurt come inside him after a few steadily-rougher thrusts and that's _new_, feeling that wet, hot liquid inside as Kurt drops, loose-limbed, and rests his forehead along the slop of Blaine's back, the divots and arches of his spinal column.

"Wow," he breathes. Blaine laughs, shakes his ass until Kurt gets the hint and pulls out slowly, Blaine still hissing when Kurt's half-hard cock slides free with a wet sound, and not long after Blaine can feel come begin to trickle out of his hole and down his inner thigh, his balls, and it's so deliciously filthy that he wants to get hard again right now.

"Wow," Blaine reiterates in agreement. He feels sore and absolutely thoroughly fucked. "That was… really, really nice."

"Understatement of the year," Kurt replies, and already he sounds tired, ready to sleep and then maybe get up in a few hours for round two. "You weren't kidding about being vocal."

Blaine flushes and flops onto his back, mindful of the wet spot, and stares at the mirror. Kurt's on his back, too, and they look in silence until Kurt says, "It was really hot."

Blaine's flush darkens for an entirely different reason this time. "Thanks," he mumbles, unsure if that's proper etiquette for being told that or not.

"It's a compliment."

Blaine laughs this time. "So. Another check off of our list?"

Kurt turns his head and reaches for Blaine's hand, twining their fingers together and kissing Blaine's knuckle, a mirror gesture of what Blaine had done in the Lima Bean a few months ago when Kurt had suggested mutual masturbation. "Another check," he confirms. "And many, many more to go."


	7. I'm Not The Way You Think I Am

Warnings are: barebacking, the usual amount of swearing (though a little less in the absence of loud!bottom!Blaine), rimming, felching. Title from "Pretty In Punk" by Fall Out Boy.

I have two words: Holy. Crap. I never expected this story to get _written_, much less get the over one hundred reviews that it has now. You all are dolls. Saints (sinners?). Gorgeous and just, _oh my god_. Every time that I try to let this story be done it has other plans for me, but at least now I have a definite storyline and ending!

Reviewers, you're all supportive and kind and make me want to cry in very good ways.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

Sometimes Kurt likes to (and maybe he's saying this a bit ironically) sit back and think about the last year of his life before he met Blaine. He likes to say that everything was black and white to the Technicolor that his life is now, but that's just the old movie fanatic in him rearing its head.

In reality, while the circumstances are similar, Kurt is well aware that he had been headed towards the edge of a cliff before meeting Blaine—an edge that he may or may not have been able to avoid. It's terrifying to think of how bleak everything had been before Blaine had come into his life.

He tries not to think about the half-dozen suicide notes shoved in his nightstand drawer, hidden under magazines and old notecards and sewing patterns, back when days were winter-bleak and everything was a huge, weighted struggle to just make it through something as simple as first period. That Kurt is gone, metaphorically dead and the Kurt of now couldn't be happier.

On March fifteenth Kurt wakes up to his phone buzzing. It's a few minutes shy of his scheduled alarm for school and outside the closed curtains of his room the light is still milky gray, the sun having not quite risen yet. The coolness of his sheets when he slides his foot as he reaches for his phone indicates that it's still cold outside and still probably raining or threatening rain with pregnant, dark clouds.

He swipes his thumb across the screen to unlock it, quickly shutting off his alarm before it can shatter the peaceful early-morning silence. It's a text from Blaine—that much he should have figured.

_It's officially been one year since I could begin calling you mine. I love you, Kurt Hummel xo_

Kurt's stomach flips and his heart palpitates; he resists—barely—jumping up and down on his bed while hugging his phone to his chest and squealing because _this is surreal_. It's been a year and it still is. He can't believe that someone like Blaine is _his_. He can't believe that he's allowed something like this, allowed that heart-in-throat, butterflies-in-stomach sensation whenever Blaine so much as side-glances in his direction.

Before he can reply his phone buzzes again with another text.

_My house after rehearsal? Dads gone so we should be free until atleast 11._

The suggestion is all there and a flare of excited arousal surges through Kurt's veins because, yeah, they can do things like that now. They can say and suggest and imagine freely, and even though they both don't outwardly say it their subtle way is nicer, cleaner in a way that Kurt still likes to have.

Kurt immediately sends back _yes :) I love you, too, Blaine Anderson._

Sitting up, he pushes his covers off and stretches before getting up and padding off to his bathroom. One year. Everything has really come full-circle back for the first time. They've done so much in this year. They've won competitions, they've lost, Kurt's sang a duet with his _boyfriend_ in front of a real audience and been to New York, they've said _I love you_ and they've had sex.

Flipping on the light and starting the shower, Kurt quickly pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it onto the toilet seat to put in the hamper later, boxers following soon after. He's done a lot in just 365 days, all of it more than he ever thought he'd be capable or doing or would even want to do.

He thinks back to the time in Blaine's room after they'd watched Blaine's video together and surprises himself by only blushing a little at the memory. He lets his mind wander back to their "fantasy discussion" and again, the image of him with his tongue buried in Blaine's ass pops up, the same image that's been plaguing his thoughts for months now.

He still has his reservations, but as he steps into the shower and lets the hot water warm up his body and sprout gooseflesh on his skin, he steels himself and thinks _it's our anniversary; there's no better time_. If he can survive Blaine making him a video, he can survive this.

Tonight. He'll do it tonight.

**xxxxXxxxx**

Kurt's greeted with a kiss that morning at his locker.

A _kiss_ and Blaine must have a death wish because it's a kiss in front of the student body and right now everyone's in a semi-mad rush to get to class. It's a "Blaine rushing up to Kurt and grabbing his waist" kiss, a "soft-yet-wet" kiss that holds just a teasing hint of the tip of Blaine's tongue across Kurt's recently-moisturized lips. Kurt's hands have looped around Blaine's neck of their own accord, reeling him in closer and putting no space between them as the metal of the lockers seeps through Kurt's shirt for an entirely different reason now.

"Fuck 'em," Blaine whispers into Kurt's ear when he parts and it's only been a few seconds, brief ones that no one would really know what had just happened had they not been watching intently, but it feels like eternity because Kurt would feel just as at home in Blaine's arms as he would on a Broadway stage. Kurt shivers at the gust of warm breath and the complete possessiveness of Blaine's words, a tone that's out of place with him usually. "It's our anniversary. I've never been able to say that before."

Kurt quickly yet gently pushes him away after sighing dreamily, looking around to make sure that no one's watching. Several heads turn back toward lockers of the contents of bookbags, but Kurt knows. People are always staring; it's just another unfortunate fact that he's grown accustomed to.

"I don't really want to get slushied," Kurt says although he's still grinning broadly and a little giddy from the sudden display. "Or worse."

Blaine slings his bag up higher and smiles, grabbing Kurt's hand in his and interlacing their fingers. "Are we still on for my house?" he asks sweetly, staring at Kurt through big hazel eyes that hold bottomless promises also accompanied by the slight jut of his hips, the antsy way he fidgets on his feet and with the strap of his bag.

The bell rings in the hallway, sending the last few stragglers scattering. "Of course," Kurt replies amidst the scuffing of rubber soles against the linoleum. He leans in again as the hallway becomes emptier, nosing at Blaine's cheek before kissing him again, inhaling a familiar, citrus-woodsy scent.

"You smell like me," Kurt whispers, fingers toying idly with the hair at the nape of Blaine's neck. The warning bell's about to ring but for once he's going to risk it. "It's hot."

Blaine swallows and puts space between them, cheeks flushing and eyes darkening. "The cologne that you got me. For, uh. For—for my birthday."

Kurt prides himself on being the only person to render Blaine Anderson almost inarticulate.

"I know," he says with a smirk, hands smoothing at Blaine's lapels before the warning bell rings and they both startle slightly. He'd worn Dolce & Gabbana's Light Blue for almost two years and had immediately bought it for Blaine once he expressed an interest. It had been his way to feel closer to Blaine back when there had been Dalton and then an unsure summer of bouncing back and forth between that and McKinley. "Now let's get to class."

**xxxxXxxxx**

Kurt feels, for all purposes, extremely grown-up when he heads to the local florist after school after telling Blaine some half-believable lie that his dad had texted him and said he needed him to come home quickly to do something. He putters unsurely about the shop for a good twenty minutes, going back and forth over beautiful bouquets of carnations and tulips in every bright spring color possible; eventually he settles on a dozen blood-red roses because Blaine seems to like those the best and worries the whole drive over to the Anderson house that they'll somehow get crushed where they're lying in the front seat. He doesn't know why—it's not like he hasn't bought flowers before.

They make it (unsurprisingly) intact and when Kurt rings the doorbell Blaine's face literally lights up when he opens the door. He takes the flowers and stares adoringly at Kurt over the top of them before promptly leaving to find a vase to put water in.

"I didn't really plan anything," he confesses once the flowers are in the vase, ends trimmed so they're even and not too tall. He sets it on the teakwood table in the foyer, his silent way of saying _look what my _boyfriend_ got me_. "Nothing seemed good enough for tonight."

A little bit of insecurity leaks out with his words and Kurt can see it in the drooping line of his back and the hands he's wringing together. "I like it when it's just us," Kurt intervenes, stepping forward to tug Blaine into a kiss. "It doesn't happen often enough."

Blaine sighs against Kurt's lips and now he's the one to wind his arms around Kurt's neck. His eyelashes flutter gently against Kurt's cheek when he shifts positions and his hips are hard and jutting under Kurt's palms where he's smoothing over Blaine's skin through the thin material of his v-neck. "I've missed you," Blaine says quietly, eyes half-lidded, gaze still focused on Kurt's mouth. Their voices echo slightly in the Andersons' huge living room, bouncing off the arching ceiling.

"Let's go to your room," Kurt whispers. Blaine nods.

**xxxxXxxxx**

Though Blaine insists on not having planned a thing for tonight except each other's company he does produce a box of cherry cordials, something Kurt only allows himself to indulge on during holidays or on special occasions. They spend a half-hour feeding them to each other, which results in more giggles and blushes than actual enjoyment every time the liquid would leak onto fingers or, in the memorable case of Kurt, chins.

Blaine had licked it up before Kurt could complain and both had leaned back, breathing a little heavier and blood thrumming a little faster. Now the box is put away and Kurt's sitting cross-legged on Blaine's bed watching him light the candles he has spaced around his room. There's only one lamp on, the large one in the corner that only puts out a soft white light.

"I'm ready!" Kurt suddenly says out of the blue. Blaine pauses in lighting the candles, lighter still clicked on in his hand, flame flashing and flickering at the tip. He looks over at Kurt, a curious expression on his face. He holds the flame to the wick until it ignites, letting the soft, fruity smell of cucumber melon fill the room. Setting the lighter down on his desk, he walks back toward the bed, where Kurt's still sitting.

"Ready for what?" he asks once he's seated on the bed next to Kurt.

"For the… the stuff we talked about," Kurt says, suddenly feeling less sure than he had when he'd walked into Blaine's house an hour ago. "You know, the, uh, the… the rimming and cum-swapping."

Eyebrow raised, Blaine rests a hand on Kurt's knee and Kurt can't help but sigh at even that simple of a touch. "Do you really want to?" Blaine asks softly.

Kurt nods and tries his best to make it as enthusiastic as possible, because even though he _does_ want it to happen, he doesn't know how ready he is to do it to Blaine. It still seems weird and even though they're both a lot more experienced now Kurt sometimes still sees himself as the naïve teenager he'd been for so many years.

"Kurt…" Blaine begins, sighing. Kurt's stomach immediately twists and he knows that this probably isn't going to end the way he wants it to. "I don't want you doing anything just because I suggested it."

"But I want to," Kurt says. He voice lifts up at the end in a petulant whine.

"You want to because I want to."

"Isn't that how sex usually works?"

Blaine laughs and smiles a little smile, something slightly forlorn but mostly amused. "You got me there," he concedes, "but that's not what I mean. I don't want it to just be about me. This is our anniversary; we both should enjoy it."

He pauses to lean in and kiss Kurt because he can, because it's his _room_ and it's one of the few places in Ohio where he's allowed to express the love for the boy sitting next to him. They both smile into the kiss, curved lips pressed to curved lips, both a little dry but everything is so sweet Kurt feels his blood sugar rise just being a part of it.

"I want to make love to you," Blaine says, hand on the side of Kurt's face now, palm large and warm and gently calloused. "We're usually a little more… _crass_ in our words, but tonight's about love."

"It's always about love," Kurt whispers back, the world immediately zeroing down to just them, just the two of them in a locked bedroom, knees touching on a soft plaid comforter. "I wouldn't say half of what I say if it wasn't love. I _love you_, Blaine. I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Kurt," Blaine says, and now it's lips against lips for real this time, parting and tongues and breathy pants of need and want and _oh, yes, right there_. Blaine gently pushes Kurt down onto the mattress, hand on his lower back as he lays him down, knees spaced wide around his hips as he changes angles and opens his mouth a little wider before moving down to Kurt's neck, that pale, smooth skin that's flawless and beautiful like marble.

Kurt stretches his neck as far as he can to the side, hands tight on Blaine's shoulders and oh _god_ how does this feel so good? Blaine's lips are warm and wet and open against his skin, tongue a damp press and teeth a sharp sting when he takes the flesh between them and bites gently, enough to make Kurt arch and press against him in all the right ways; enough to have Kurt's fingers twining in Blaine's hair and tugging and pulling.

Blaine's body is all hard, lean lines, muscles and scratchy hair and stubble. They're still clothed, shirts riding high on torsos and jeans chafing in ways that are both amazing and horrible all at once. Blaine pushes down with his hips, not a lot of pressure but just enough that Kurt can feel the line of his cock rutting against his own.

"We really need to be naked," he gasps into Blaine's ear, a hand traveling down Blaine's chest and to the hem of his shirt where he begins tugging insistently, a whine in his voice as Blaine makes no attempt to move from where he's pressing light kisses to the side of Kurt's neck, the fleeting touch making him shiver and writhe.

"_Blaine_," he hisses, "c'mon, I want to see you naked and then have sex."

Blaine's bed still smells like lavender, the same way it had smelled all those months ago. But unlike all those months ago they know things now, things they've learned through trial-and-error, through the experience of fingers running along skin and learning the body language of when the other is about to come.

"Not until you say it," Blaine whispers, teeth closing around the lobe of Kurt's ear, tight enough to make Kurt whimper slightly.

"Say what?" Kurt plays coy but he _knows_. He grabs onto Blaine's shoulders, fingers curling and nails digging in even through his shirt. The muscles of Blaine's thighs are strong around his and all he can think of is the way they looked when Blaine was riding him, the way they'd flexed under taut golden skin and fine dark hair, the way sweat had shown as a thin sheen, glinting in the light of the shitty motel room.

"You know what," Blaine whispers, his tongue flicking at the back of Kurt's ear now, flicking and trailing down and to his collarbone where his shirt is pushed slightly off to the side.

"I love you," Kurt finally says, grabbing Blaine's face to bring him to eye level.

"Say it again." Blaine looks mesmerized, enraptured, and his eyes keep flickering back down to Kurt's lips.

"_I love you_."

"I love you, too, Kurt," and now Blaine's smiling, wide and bright and he dives in, _practically_, to kiss Kurt again. He pulls off to drag Kurt's lower lip slightly where it's captured between his teeth and when Kurt brings a hand up to cup Blaine's jaw he leans into it, nuzzling his cheek into Kurt's palm as their lips connect again.

Blaine's lips are always soft and yet somehow chapped and he always smells so sweet and yet manly. Up close his cheeks are always rough and slightly darkened from stubble and Kurt _loves_ the way it feels against his own perpetually-smooth cheeks, loves the way it reddens the skin and sometimes his inner thighs when Blaine's sucking him off and mouthing at his balls. Blaine makes a noise in the back of his throat, quiet and almost not there, but Kurt's fingers dig into the skin of his cheek and he knows that Kurt's heard and that it's had an effect on him as well.

Kurt doesn't want to breathe, never wants to leave this moment when it's just lips, slightly chapped against impossibly soft, and no tongue, breath held in their lungs as they soak each other in like osmosis, breathe in the different scents they've grown to associate with the other. This is when they slow down to appreciate, let it be just them because even through the hormones and pheromones and teenage desperation they're hopelessly, madly, _nauseatingly_ in love with each other.

Kurt tilts his head and changes the angle, sliding his hand from Blaine's cheek to his hair, weaving his fingers in through the strands pasted together with gel. The pain momentarily startles Blaine, who drops his mouth open a little more into Kurt's with a groan-gasp.

One of Blaine's hands slides up, tracing the curves of Kurt's neck, trailing a fingernail up the ridges of his throat and adam's apple, the hard line of the tendon, pressing his thumb slightly into the hollow of Kurt's throat to feel him swallow and breathe and just exist.

"Please," Kurt says, and it's not like him to beg, not at all, "I want you inside of me, Blaine."

Blaine kisses him hard on the lips before he's sliding down, fingers already working on the button and zip of Kurt's jeans, sliding them and his briefs down his thighs and off to fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

It's so much like their first time without the awkward fumbling and stuttered _is this okay?_ every five seconds. It's Blaine on top of him, staring down with soulful eyes, with lips parted and already swelling, with his cock a visible hard bulge at the front of his jeans.

But Blaine doesn't ask if it's all right. He doesn't ask if it's okay. Kurt's naked from the waist down, legs spread and he feels a little exposed but honestly, it's nothing that he can't handle by now. He twists his fingers into the hem of his shirt and sits up to tug it off, dropping it to the side of the bed by one of Blaine's many desks.

"You're beautiful," Blaine gasps out, eyes traveling over Kurt's body, the slender taper of his wrists and ankles, the thick length of his cock curving towards his navel. He says this like he hasn't seen Kurt before, like he's never seen him like this when he's exposed and willing.

"You're cliché," Kurt shoots back but his breath is coming too fast to make it a useful retort. His heart's pounding and his hands are shaking and he wants Blaine _so bad_. He reaches forward and shoves the hem of Blaine's shirt aside, raking his nails down Blaine's abdomen and feeling his muscles flutter under the rough touch. Blaine's eyes widen in momentary surprise and he chokes out a noise before sitting back and stripping his shirt off quickly, jeans lost in the next few moments to join with Kurt's on the floor.

Blaine slides his tongue into Kurt's mouth when they kiss again and Kurt can't help but suck on it, hooking a leg over Blaine's leg as he shifts and their cocks brush together. Blaine groans and pushes down, ducking his head to lick at a nipple until Kurt's torn between pushing against Blaine's hips or against his face.

"Fuck me or make love to me," Kurt says, jerking when Blaine bites down gently, "whatever, just, _now_, Blaine."

"Impatient," Blaine teases when he slides off the bed to grab the lube from the drawer. After their night in the motel and Blaine's plea to not use a condom, they'd discussed the consequences of continuing it. They'd both been given a clean bill of health from the free clinic—it never hurts to be sure—and after an in-depth discussion they'd found out that they both liked the idea of barebacking.

It may not be the smartest thing to do, but they were both virgins prior to this relationship. And Kurt's maybe sort of really excited to have Blaine inside him with nothing blocking contact.

The room is a soft orange, shadows casted on the walls by the flickering flames of the various candles. Blaine climbs back onto the bed a second later and Kurt sits up, reaches out and takes Blaine's cock in his hand, lets it sit heavy on his palm before he's curling his fingers and stroking gently, firm from base to tip and squeezing and twisting on the way down.

Blaine groans loudly and bucks his hips forward, eyes sliding shut and mouth dropping open. Kurt repeats once more before laying back against the pillows. Blaine immediately settles between his legs, popping the cap open and pouring some lube onto his fingers.

"I love you," he says. It's intense and truthful and sounds like it was cut from Blaine's very being.

Kurt hums in agreement, shifting his hips and saying, "You too."

Then it's one of Blaine's fingers, Kurt spreading his legs a little further, bending his knees; two comes not longer after, Kurt forcing himself to relax; three fills him and he's gasping, fucking himself down onto Blaine's finger and moaning to the ceiling as he grips his own cock and jerks lazily in time with Blaine's fingers.

"You're okay without the condom?" Blaine asks unsurely, hovering somewhere between wanting to do it and wanting to hold off just to make sure. "I mean, like, you won't freak if I, you know, come inside you?"

The thought sends a shudder down Kurt's spine and he should be worried about the cleanliness aspect of it, how he's going to have to clean, but he can't bring himself to even care. "I'd be angrier if you didn't. Hurry up; I'm going to graduate college before you even get started."

Blaine barks out a laugh, opening the bottle again and pouring lube onto his palm to slick over his dick. Kurt watches the careful movements of his hand, the way his eyes flutter and his breath hitches. With the candlelight playing over his skin he looks beautiful, otherworldly in a way that Kurt can't describe.

Blaine bends down over him, stretched long and lean and trembling. They kiss messily, tongues meeting before lips and mouths smacking together wetly. Blaine lines himself up, slick head of his cock pressing against Kurt's hole. Kurt shudders and moans into Blaine's mouth, grabbing onto Blaine's bicep as he slowly pushes in.

And it hurts, that's a given, but it's _fantastic_.

It's just Blaine in him, no condom, _nothing_ but the hard length of his cock, every ridge and vein and the first slide out and back in hurts but it's intense. Kurt's legs go automatically around Blaine's waist, locking as Blaine picks up a slow pace.

"Fuck," Kurt breathes, and like this it's so intimate, with Blaine going slow and steady and their eyes locked, faces close, breathing the same air and thinking the same things as Kurt's body moves along with Blaine's, as he feels the slick slide of his cock in and out. "God, it's…"

"Amazing," Blaine finishes softly, and there's a smile on his face, something tender and affectionate. He bends his head to press their lips together. "You're amazing, Kurt."

The build-up this time is slow. He can see the beginnings of orgasm in Blaine's arm where he trembles, can hear it in his breath where it hitches and gets ragged, uneven. His legs are still locked around Blaine's waist, and Blaine's so close that each thrust forward drags his stomach along Kurt's cock, providing stimulation that makes Kurt's torso undulate.

"Don't come yet," Blaine pants like he knows how close Kurt already is just from this pace, and now his thrusts are more erratic and rough, hips snapping forward quicker, jostling Kurt's body and making him groan. "Hold on, just hold on."

"Blaine," Kurt whines, bringing a hand between them to wrap around his cock, working at it in time with Blaine's thrusts. "So close."

Kurt feels it beginning to coil low in his stomach, balls tightening with it, and then Blaine thrusts hard enough that the muted sounds of their skin slapping together rings out and he's coming, _shit_, coming inside of Kurt with a high moan, and Kurt can _feel_ his dick pulsing inside him.

Blaine pulls out quickly and before Kurt can open his mouth to complain about the sharp pain and Blaine leaving him high and dry Blaine's ordering him on his hands and knees and Kurt is obeying, confused and still not used to the wet feel of Blaine's come sitting inside him.

The bed squeaks and bounces underneath him as he shifts and Blaine shifts and for a horrifying second he nearly loses his balance and falls face forward. Like this he feels strange, exposed in ways he doesn't like, but this is, like he tells himself so often, _Blaine_ and if Blaine's doing it he has to have a good reason.

"Don't freak out," Blaine says, and Kurt wants to look back but holds off. "Just… go with it, okay? I want to try this before you think about trying it."

Then there are two hands flat on Kurt's cheeks, pushing up and holding him open. He squirms, feeling more than a little vulnerable at being so twisted and spread like this with Blaine's hot breath fanning over his backside as he leans in, close, closer, and Kurt _yelps_ when the point of Blaine's warm tongue is trailing down the cleft of his ass, circling around his sore, stretched hole and laving at the back of his balls before trailing up and repeating because even though he'd been half-expecting it ever since Blaine told him to turn over it's still _new_.

He's still hard, still aching, and he can't believe that Blaine had come first and just _left_ him like this, so close to release that his entire body tingles and he's two seconds away from rutting against the mattress. But now, now, _shit_, Blaine's tongue is on him, _in him_, and it feels better than Kurt could have ever imagined. When Blaine flicks his tongue at the rim Kurt moans and wants to tell him to do that again but it's like he can't form words now.

It's not near-silent like Kurt had thought it'd be. When he'd imagined doing it to Blaine the only noises had been Blaine's moans and breathless pants. And while Kurt is definitely moaning in this situation, Blaine's enthusiasm produces slurping, wet sounds that Kurt didn't even know were possible.

And it's so _hot_ that Kurt feels filthy liking it.

He can still feel Blaine's come inside him, still pooled and now trickling out in a thin line. This line Blaine licks up, dipping into the stretched rim of his asshole in one quick motion before retreating. Kurt feels the bed shift under him, hears Blaine moving around on his knees. He hears a sharp intake of breath and then a familiar wet sound and something warm dripping down the cleft of his ass, around his hole and further down.

He gasps.

Blaine _spit_. He spit his _come_ back onto Kurt's ass and oh god that should not be as hot as it is. That shouldn't make Kurt quake and writhe and _moan_ like he does when Blaine leans down again to bury his face between Kurt's cheeks, breath quick and loud and panting as he licks over his hole in broad stripes, working his tongue in a quick in-out movement that has Kurt clenching at the sheets and pushing back onto Blaine's face, cock leaking and balls aching but he can't seem to work up the strength to get a hand under him to jerk himself off.

"Oh, fuck," Kurt whines, "oh fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

Blaine's moaning against his skin, moaning and pulling away to fucking _spit_ again, licking it up and using his index and middle finger of his right hand to spread Kurt's hole open just a little further to go deeper with his tongue and Kurt could cry he's so close with the symphony of Blaine's panting and whining playing on repeat in his ears, with the stimulation that's foreign to him and so, so good. "God, _yes_, Blaine, _shit_."

"I love how you taste," Blaine says, and it's on a low, rough growl. Kurt twists, resting his weight on his right arm, looking back with curious eyes and Blaine is absolutely wrecked, chin and lips shiny with saliva, cheeks flushed red high at the apples, hazel eyes dilated and glazed. Kurt can see sweat glistening on his forehead, sees little tufts of curls sticking up where his hands had grabbed and held earlier.

_Blaine_ looks like he should be the thoroughly-fucked one, not Kurt.

"Oh my god, c'mere," and Kurt's ashamed at how wrecked his voice is, at how desperate he's become as he flips over and reaches for Blaine, hand clamped onto the back of his neck as he kisses him and licks into his mouth, tasting and _groaning_ because this is dirty, should-be gross but it's just fucking _not_.

"I love you," he says, "I love you so fucking much, oh my _god_."

Blaine gets a hand between them and wraps it around Kurt's cock, stroking with tight, precise movements that have Kurt's hips pushing up in seconds, little noises ripped from his throat as he thrashes on the pillow and wants so much but doesn't know how to articulate any of it.

"Blaine," he gasps and of course it's the only thing he knows how to say, it _always_ is_,_ and his head tilts back almost on its own accord, eyes sliding shut as he comes over Blaine's fist and both their stomachs.

He barely registers Blaine getting up and coming back with a warm washcloth. He's heavy with post-orgasm buzz, limbs melted to the bed as he smiles contentedly.

He feels Blaine settled in beside him, arm slung across his chest. He pressed close and Kurt scoots over a little to get them even closer. "So. Rimming," he says.

"Rimming," Blaine confirms. "Yes or no?"

"That's a definite yes," Kurt says, cracking an eye open to stare lazily at Blaine, corner of his mouth upward in a smile. "But we didn't do the second part of what I want to tonight."

Blaine flushes red and smiles a little nervously. He runs the tips of his fingers along Kurt's torso, then down to the comforter where he picks at the stitching. "Maybe next time?" he says in a voice that unintentionally goes up toward the end.

"Our list keeps getting longer and longer," Kurt says, amused, as he toys with Blaine's hair. Blaine lets out a happy sigh and curls closer to Kurt, leaving a hand on his chest. "We need to start knocking things off." His eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Summer's coming up soon," Blaine responds. His voice is sleepy and even though Kurt knows that Blaine's dad is going to be home shortly he doesn't want to move. "We'll have lots of time then."

"Happy one-year," Kurt says softly a minute or so later.

"Happy one-year," Blaine reiterates, finding Kurt's hand and lacing their fingers together.


	8. This Is A Love Song In My Own Way

Title from "Bang The Doldrums" By Fall Out Boy.  
>Warnings are: sex, barebacking, minor language, and oh my god this chapter is nothing but marshmallow fluff and corn with a dash of spice and Klaingst.<p>

GRADUATION. We've finally made it this far. I think that at this point there should be about two more chapters left, one in the summer and one in NY, and that's it!

Reviewers, merci. I'm so happy that you all love this story so. I love _you_ all so.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

Kurt had always thought that he'd have forever before he left Lima. Junior year had dragged on, as had the transitioning summer between that and senior year, full of heat and swimming and barbeques and holding Blaine's hand because he finally _could_, because Blaine was his and he was Blaine's and now he understood why Tina and Mike always got twitchy whenever they were apart for too long; it was like Blaine was a part of _him_, and their dating period may not have been very long at that point but they knew already. They _always_ knew.

Time, however, has a way of both changing things and catching up to you when you least expect it.

Kurt may feel like Lima, Ohio, is his forever, and no matter how much he tries to play off being an adult he still is just a teenager, and all teenagers have very skewed senses of time. School may drag on, summers may drag on, and days spent sitting in bedrooms, either Kurt or Blaine's, may go by fast but seem numerous in its place, yet the horrible reality of it all is that _everything_ goes by fast and sometimes you just have to sit down and notice.

As much as he's itching to get out, leave and finally live in New York, breathe in the smells again and see all the sights he's dreamt about most of his life, Kurt knows that, at some point, he's going to miss sitting in Calculus or AP English and listening to his teacher drone on about things he's known for years or things that he just doesn't understand. He'll bitch and whine about having to read a book in an obscenely short amount of time, end up using Sparknotes the night before a test and when their section of homework over the chapters is due, and curse his teacher to an eternity of panty lines and flyaways, but maybe a year from now, maybe the second he turns in his last final, he'll miss it.

He doesn't have NYADA, but he does have Tisch, and that's just as good, he supposes. Dorming is probably a better option than living in a cramped, dirty apartment with Rachel, and while he does like her, that's just it: he _likes_ her. He doesn't love her like he loved Mercedes when things had been good. They have their periods of friendliness and their periods of competitive animosity, and those seem more frequent than not, unfortunately, and they're both going to be stressed enough with classwork and hectic schedules as it is.

Dalton feels like a million years ago. His small stint there seems to have happened in just the blink of an eye and seems so infinitesimal compared to now when he's planning college and what to take and what to leave behind. The snow melts; the birds sing. Flowers pop up and the air gets warmer, the days longer and the grass greener.

Suddenly it's May and suddenly graduation practice is in a week. Senior finals start on Tuesday and go through Wednesday and then that's it. Done. High school will officially be over for Kurt; he'll only have to come in on Friday for the practice, Saturday for the actual ceremony, and then McKinley will remain in his mind a place of confusing memories, both bad and good, and he'll only have to go back one more time.

And Blaine. Blaine will still be there for another two weeks and then an entire year after the summer. The last thing that Kurt wants to do is leave him. He can't imagine this boy, the one who'd transferred from his sheltered castle of a school just to risk a slushie facial every day for the boy that he loves, the one who'd made a promise ring out of gum wrappers all because he couldn't afford the one that Kurt really wanted—and just the _thought_ that if Blaine could, if he had the money, he'd get it for him, that's even better than Blaine handing him the moon and the stars—going it alone in halls that, though admittedly tamer, are still treacherous.

He's the one boy Kurt's met who really _cares_, and Kurt may now officially be a college freshman, an almost-alumnus from McKinley High School, but he wants to be a silly romantic just one last time and stay, risk his first year of higher education to be with the boy who'd promised a future that stretches beyond college and maybe a few rocky years after.

He knows, however, that Blaine would never allow it. Blaine would tell him _go, it's okay_.

Even if it wasn't.

Kurt feels bad for thinking this, but he almost sort of wishes that he hadn't met Blaine if only because it would make leaving easier. Before Blaine, the only thing really tethering him to Lima was his dad—his health, being alone, anything. Then had come Carole and Finn and Kurt had felt a little bit better about leaving for most of the next four years. But then he fell in love and he finally found out what people meant when they said _weak in the knees_, _heart pounding in your chest_, _head over heels_.

And he doesn't want to cry, he _doesn't_ because the graduation gowns for McKinley are a terrible retina-burning red and the tassels look like Jason's melted-down blood-covered mask and all right, Kurt's never really liked McKinley's color scheme, he won't lie, but wouldn't _white_ gowns have been more suitable? Or at least black; black is slimming and Jillian Foster a few rows ahead of him could use something slightly slimming.

The colors are burning his eyes—that's why he's crying as Ruby Alexander gives the valedictorian's speech and half of his class pretends to care like they didn't spend most of their high school career goofing off in class and cheating during tests and finals.

They're stuffed in the gym because it's raining something awful outside, a spring storm system that's dumping bucketfuls of tepid water over most of the state right now, and isn't _that_ suitable. Kurt should be feeling joyous, ecstatic at finally leaving this hellhole, but all he can do is discreetly scan the crowds of family and friends huddled on the uncomfortable bleacher seats until he finds his father and Carole and, god, there's Blaine sitting next to Carole, and he must've been staring because as soon as Kurt finds Blaine he's smiling proudly and giving him a short wave that Kurt returns.

Tears pinch at his eyes again and he looks up, feigning disinterest and a sudden fascination with the fluorescent lights hanging from the rafters. He will _not_ cry, not when he's handed his diploma, not when he sits back at his seat and _especially_ not when the McKinley Class of 2012 is declared official graduates.

Too bad he cries at every single event, and when they all toss their caps Kurt looks over at Blaine out of habit and sees that he's crying as well, bottom lip between his teeth. Finn grabs him in a one-armed hug and whoops. "We did it!"

Kurt snatches his cap out of the hands of Bobby Gehr once Finn's released him and gone on to attack some classmate Kurt's sure he's never even _talked_ to. "I believe in _labeling_ things," Kurt says as way of explanation at Bobby's confused look. He's not sure why he did, either. It's not like he's that kind of sentimental person who'd want to keep his own cap, but there had been a spot, and well. Maybe someday down the line when he and Blaine are older he'd want to reflect.

He wants to run up the bleachers right now and see Blaine, to reassure him that just because he's leaving high school doesn't mean he's ever going to leave Blaine's heart, but he can't. Figgins is asking all the students—alumni, Kurt thinks, and what a high school to be an alumni from—to file out from the gym first.

Shit.

**xxxxXxxxx**

Blaine still has school on Monday, and it's weird for Kurt to think about. It's mainly just little things, like how the locker next to Blaine's is now empty, how they won't meet up before class like they always did to walk together, and it's still too new for anything to really feel like it's changed, but _everything_ has. Sure, three long months of heat and sun and absolutely nothing stretch ahead of them, but three months isn't eternity.

On Sunday, Burt and Carole head to Columbus for the day and Finn is at Rachel's doing—whatever, Kurt hadn't really been listening when Finn had told him. He'd been too busy texting Blaine and seeing what he was doing.

After graduation last night Blaine had been teary-eyed but jubilant, hugging Kurt tightly and kissing him like no one was watching, and it felt so _liberating_, knowing that he'd never have to worry about stupid homophobic students again, but then that just makes him think about Blaine still stuck here and he _won't stop crying_.

Blaine's shaky whisper of _I'm so proud of you, baby_ still echoes in his ears and he thinks back to opening night of _West Side Story_, when he'd come into the auditorium after the show to see Blaine still there and practicing a move over and over even though he was absolutely perfect already. Blaine had been relieved that Kurt was proud of him, and with Blaine's parents Kurt can understand, but to hear _Blaine_ say it, every word final and completely valid, it's something Kurt's always wanted. It's acceptance, validation that he can succeed.

It's evidence that he's _wanted_.

If Kurt hadn't been sure already, he is now. He knows that he never wants to spend any part of his life not attached to Blaine in some way. They'll have to live with Skype and phone calls and text messages come the fall, but there's Thanksgiving break and Christmas break and Spring break, and Kurt's going to be one of those people that don't party it up in the city or at some exotic location with too many topless women and an abundance of easy-to-get alcohol: he'll be back in Ohio and back with Blaine, his _boyfriend_, every second possible.

Kurt's phone vibrates on the bed and he picks it up as soon as possible, glancing at the screen before answering with a breathy "Hello?"

_"Hey, stud."_

Kurt giggles—what's wrong with him? _No one_ does that—and replies, "Hi, handsome."

Blaine snorts out a laugh of his own and it feels good, it always does, to be a little corny and ridiculous like this. _"Am I still coming over, Mr. Graduate?"_

_Someday I'll stop swooning_, Kurt thinks and answers, "Of course. The offer still stands, you know. My house emptied of its inhabitants; you, me, and a bed with fresh sheets and minimum spring-squeaking is an imminent possibility now."

Blaine _hmm_s on the other line, pausing._ "Might need to change those sheets again when we're done,"_ he says, tone dripping with _want_, so much of it that Kurt actually whimpers a little and clutches his phone tight, throat feeling suddenly, inexplicably dry. Blaine never stops surprising him.

"Oh, god, please hurry up."

_"Don't start without me."_ And a click.

**xxxxXxxxx**

"So is it too early to say that my boyfriend is a college student now?" are Blaine's first words when Kurt opens the door of the foyer.

Kurt blinks and makes Blaine toe off his shoes by the door. It's still raining, though not as bad, and the humidity is already appalling and promising a long, hot summer. "Um, maybe?"

"Oh, too bad," Blaine says, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist and pulling him close. "I just mass-texted Nick, Jeff, Thad, Wes, and David and told them that I'm having sex with a hot college guy today and they weren't."

Kurt gapes. "You didn't!"

Blaine buries his face in the crook of Kurt's neck and laughs. "I might've. And every single one of them said that I shouldn't 'tell Kurt 'cause he might get mad.'"

Kurt can hear the air quotes and he doesn't stop the smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth. "Well, consider them officially uninvited from my graduation party next week."

Blaine pulls away and leans up to kiss Kurt soft and slow, holding it there until they have to part to breathe and then it's all giddy smiles and pressing foreheads, both just breathing as they blink and stare.

"I love you," Blaine whispers. His voice begins to crack. "I don't want you to go away."

The mood instantly evaporates and Blaine's hold on his waist tightens; Kurt slings his arms around Blaine's neck in return. It's so familiar, so comforting, and Kurt doesn't want to think of ever giving it up, even if it is just for a few months at a time.

"I do recall once saying that I won't ever say goodbye to you," Kurt says, kissing Blaine's eyelids. "McKinley and Dalton, Lima and New York, I won't _ever_ leave you, Blaine."

Blaine sniffles and then he's kissing Kurt hard, tears wet on his lips as he traces Kurt's with his tongue. It's desperate, and they've done desperate several times over in various fashions, but this kind of desperate is born out of fear, out of an impending event that won't be favorable. They haven't yet touched on this kind of desperate and it's intense and full of raw passion. They clutch, Blaine's hands slightly shaky, his breath hitching, and he says, "Hold me." He sounds so vulnerable, broken and open and like a little child.

He says, "Love me."

Kurt's heart breaks a little but he peppers Blaine's face, his cheeks and eyelids again, the bridge of his nose and his forehead, with kisses. "I'll always love you."

They go upstairs and Kurt remembers a time when they'd headed for his room with similar intentions, how they couldn't keep their hands off each other for five seconds and everything had been heated and rough and _now, please, now_. He remembers that different kind of desperation of rolling hips and loud, wet kisses, hands rubbing along jeans and clutching onto asses.

As he leads Blaine up the stairs now, past the corner by the window where Blaine had once dropped to his knees and mouthed at Kurt through his jeans, it's a new experience: Blaine is still quietly crying, eyes rimmed red and twin trails of tears running down his cheeks, falling into the bow of his perfect lips and dripping off his chin.

Kurt has to be strong.

Once in the room Kurt frames Blaine's face with his hands, kissing him deep, tasting and mapping for memory, afraid that somehow he'll forget what Blaine tastes like, forget the way his moans sound when Kurt's kissing him like this, when he can swallow down the noises and then make him produce _more_.

They back to the bed, Blaine falling first and Kurt stopping himself with an arm, situating his knee next to Blaine's thigh as he moves his mouth down Blaine's neck, the hollow of his throat, the small bit of clavicle allowed with his loose t-shirt.

Blaine breathes deep, moaning and squirming, and though there are still tears on his face he clutches at the back of Kurt's head. "_God_. I love it when you do that." His voice is still shaky, though now it's edged where Kurt likes it, at the junction of needy and surprised.

"Scoot up," Kurt says, voice pitched low and words spoken against Blaine's skin. Blaine obeys, moving on the bed until he's completely on it. Kurt swings up his other leg, straddling Blaine's waist before settling down. He suppresses a groan at the feel of Blaine half-hard beneath his ass. His eyes are dark, lips red and pale skin flushing rapidly. He runs his fingertips down the length of Blaine's arm until he gets to his hand, where he threads their fingers together and brings their clasped hands to his mouth.

"Sexy," Kurt whispers, kissing each finger as he comes across it, whether it's Blaine's or his own. "Even though I'll be gone I'll still remember that it was you who taught me that, while fingertip touching is sexy, there are some… _other_ sexy things we could be doing."

Blaine laughs; tears are welling in his eyes again as he uses his free hand to brush it along Kurt's cheek, down his neck and his arm to take Kurt's other hand in his. He brings that up level with their already-conjoined hands and says, "You've come a long way, Kurt Hummel, to be saying that while sitting on my lap."

"While you're sailing half-mast, no less," Kurt says, grinning as he bears down and Blaine groans, head lolling back. "Or hoisting further, apparently."

"Shit," Blaine gasps. He works his hands out of Kurt's to clutch at his waist, worming up under his shirt and pushing it up. His hands are cooler and Kurt hisses a little in shock. "Can we please make this about you being inside me?"

Kurt leans down and kisses Blaine. "Of course. I tease to please."

He strips off his shirt, coaxing Blaine up to remove his, and everything's so tender, so loving, so reminiscent of their first time, and _now_ that seems like forever ago, a November night years and years in the past.

"I missed this," Kurt says, working on Blaine's belt. The clink of metal echoes in the room, then the sound of a zipper being pulled down follows it. "We haven't mapped each other out like this in months."

Blaine gets Kurt's pants undone, leaving them to hang off his hips as Kurt shifts back and up to begin to edge Blaine's pants down. Once they're on the floor Kurt shimmies his off before rejoining Blaine on the bed and straddling his hips.

It's familiar territory that Kurt's traveled down many times before. Blaine's pectoral always twitches when Kurt digs his nails in just so; his mouth always falls open when Kurt trails his lips down his abdomen, tongue tracing out the slight muscle definition Blaine's acquired from years of polo and running and boxing. Blaine twitches when Kurt runs his hands down his sides, thumbs tracing along the smooth curves of his torso down to the dimples above his ass and the jut of his hips.

His breathing quickens when Kurt reaches his waistband.

"_Kurt_."

And Kurt might just miss that the most, the breathy way Blaine keens his name. There's an undertone of reverence, underlying need and urge that's gradually come out over the months. He's heard it countless times, countless ways. He slips his fingers under the waistband of Blaine's briefs and tugs them down until they land on the floor and Blaine is spread out beneath him, cock hard and flushed against his stomach, every emotion possible playing over Blaine's face.

And that, Kurt thinks, is where the true nudity lies because Blaine is usually so guarded.

"I don't want you to ever stop saying my name like that," Kurt whispers as he shucks his own briefs and now they're pressing together, finally naked as Kurt's cock slots perfectly at the juncture of Blaine's thigh. They both groan, Kurt moving his hips forward a few times, and he licks his way into Blaine's mouth, taking his lower lip between his teeth and sucking until Blaine is arching up and arching up.

"Don't ever stop touching me," Blaine says, punctuating each word with a kiss, hands clutching at Kurt's shoulders, torso undulating as he attempts to move his hips up but is rendered unable to do so. He slides a hand down the dip of Kurt's back, rests at his lumbar region and holds there. "Please." Kurt braces his weight on one hand, working the other between them to grab both their cocks in his hand.

"I won't," he says, moving his hips forward, sliding his cock along Blaine's; they both gasp. "Fuck, I don't ever want to."

Blaine moans and thrusts up, kisses Kurt like he's dying; god, that's such a cliché but Kurt honestly can't think of anyway else to describe it. It's the kiss of someone going away to war, that last-chance fear that it could be the last time.

But it won't be the last time. It's just the beginning. This isn't goodbye sex; not yet, at least.

"You're beautiful," Kurt murmurs, letting go and bracing his weight on both hands again, looking down, and he'll never get over being able to see Blaine underneath him like this. "When I go away and I'm not here to tell it to you every morning always remember it." He moves to the crook of Blaine's neck, kisses there and runs his tongue along the skin, up the tendon and back down to the soft curve.

At the crook of Blaine's neck he still smells like D&G, like Old Spice body wash and it's not Kurt's favorite, but he's come to recognize it as Blaine and that connotation makes up for any misgivings. He never wants to leave: his bed, this day, maybe even Lima, though deep down he knows that that one's not true.

Blaine's eyes are glassy again, tears pooling and gradually spilling over, running down and losing themselves in Blaine's hair. Kurt kisses them away, brushing along Blaine's cheek before leaning back and reaching into his bedside drawer for the bottle of lube.

"I love you." Kurt un-clicks the bottle and Blaine automatically spreads his legs and bends at the knee, canting his hips up a fraction of an inch. It makes Kurt's breath hitch and he doesn't, _doesn't_ want to go months without this. It's too much.

The motions are well-oiled by now, body language is past learned and set deep into memorized. Blaine relaxes under Kurt's fingers, first one, then two, gradually three just to be thorough. His moans are breathy, his whimpers are light as he grasps his cock and slides the tight circle of his fist along the length a few times.

Tear tracks are dry on his face and his cheeks are flushed, hair mussed in the back and eyes slid tightly shut. His tongue wets his lips as he pants, and when Kurt finally removes his fingers and squeezes more lube out to slick up his cock, Blaine opens his eyes.

He looks to Kurt, moves until he's adjusted, and says, "I love you, too."

Kurt kisses him as he slides in, hand on the base of his cock and his fingers may longer just a bit longer, searching out the stretch of skin, of Blaine _taking_ him, and he shudders when he feels the stretch and flex. He likes how Blaine always makes this noise in the back of his throat, something that sounds vaguely surprised, whenever Kurt buries himself to the hilt. It's almost like he doesn't expect it, and it's the little idiosyncrasies like that that Kurt loves.

That he'll miss.

He—_they_—need to stop thinking like this because it's not even summer yet. August is a way off and they need to spend these next months enjoying and not moping.

"_Oh_," and Blaine's voice is high-pitched, legs spread wide. "Fuck, Kurt, oh my god."

Kurt slides out, back in and he's not sure if he'll ever get used to the heightened sensation of nothing around his cock, nothing separating him from Blaine, and it's so intimate, so astounding and amazing. He knows how Blaine feels now, knows exactly why Blaine had begged for him to lose the condom in the first place.

Blaine pants, just short, quick staccato breaths, and then he's pulling Kurt down, attaching their mouths. A hand between them, running up Blaine's thigh, the soft dusting of hair and the corded muscle beneath well-moisturized skin, Kurt wraps his fist around Blaine's cock.

Blaine arches, groans, and his hips push back slightly, rocking to get Kurt's cock deeper. He hooks one leg around the back of Kurt's thigh, arches again and moans, swears and another tear slides down his face, streaking a clear line that glistens in the dim, gray light of Kurt's room.

"You were right," he says, Kurt thumbing over the head of his cock and losing the end of his sentence to a choked-off gasp.

"About what?" Kurt asks, feeling close, so close, and he thrusts forward hard, surprising Blaine.

"Your bed being a lot quieter." And it's such a dumb statement, such a _Blaine _statement that Kurt can't help but bark out a laugh. It's not like they haven't had sex here before, but it's just been one of those things that neither really thinks about consciously.

"Oh my god, I love you," Kurt says, voice tight. He swallows, flicks his wrist on the upstroke and adds, "I'm close."

His arm trembles where he's holding himself up, the other pumping faster on Blaine's cock, pre-come slick along the length and the palm of his hand. He presses his hips once, twice, three times to Blaine's ass before his balls tighten and he's coming with a low groan; Blaine comes a few jerky thrusts later when Kurt changes angles, tightening around Kurt's cock and drawing a gasp from him as he comes over Kurt's hand and his stomach.

"_Fuck_." Blaine's voice is high and reedy and he's still squirming on the bed, mouth rounded, open, as he catches his breath and Kurt slowly slides out. They kiss languidly, slick lips against slick lips, and Kurt has to resist the urge to run his tongue along Blaine's torso and clean up the strings of semen himself. He eventually pushes up off the bed and goes to the bathroom to wet a washcloth.

"I don't want you crying anymore," Kurt says softly when he's cleaned up Blaine with a warm, damp washcloth. "I'm still here until August, and then we have breaks, not to mention texting and Skype."

"It's not the same," Blaine replies, pulling Kurt close when he lies back down on the bed. "This is you going back to McKinley tenfold."

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Kurt recites although he doesn't believe a word of it.

"Or colder," Blaine adds, snuggling close to Kurt's body. They listen to the soft patter of the rain against the roof for a few minutes, Blaine drawing absent patterns on Kurt's chest and Kurt can definitely see a future in here somewhere, something nice and attainable and that thought sends a pleasant thrill through him.

"Promise you'll always be there for me?" Blaine eventually asks, and the question startles Kurt, who looks down at the top of his head like he's not sure if he's hearing this correctly.

"I'm not going to leave you," he says, running his fingers through Blaine's hair.

Blaine tilts his head back and his eyes are huge, watery, and Kurt just can't say _no_ to that. He leans down and presses a kiss to Blaine's lips. "You have me all summer," he says with a soft smile. "Let's make it count."


	9. And This Is You And Me

Warnings are: blindfolding, blowjobs, slight public frottage. Title from "Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)" by Fall Out Boy.

Oh my, I am so terribly sorry for the lack of updates on this, and, well, everything. I've been stressing hardcore and have forgotten what it's like to actually be able to sit down and write. This chapter is mainly summer filler, just them exploring a little further and gearing up to be separated soon. The next chapter will be the last (I'm srs bsns this time, I swear).

Reviewers, I'm going to make this simple: thanks. You keep me writing.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

****xxxxXxxxx****

Summer is shaping up to be oppressively hot. The first week of June, temperatures hover in the high eighties and the sky seems to be reluctant to spare any moisture. The grass is still April-green, leaves lush and full in every treetop, but something seems to whisper deep down, like an invisible parasite under the skin, about dryness, about arid land and too-full public swimming pools.

School's officially out, the streets and backyards constantly littered now with screaming kids, voices full of elation about the three months of freedom looming heavy over their heads. McKinley's finals are over and that's it: Blaine's officially a senior in high school; Kurt's officially a freshman in college. It's surreal. It's astounding. It's _crazy_.

But they don't let themselves think about anything other than the endless summer days that they have together. It hurts too much otherwise, thinking about loneliness and their only connection being a staticky one via Skype or phone. Blaine looks despondent when he shows up at Kurt's house after his last final, the Calculus one he had been worrying about for months.

"You didn't fail, did you?" Kurt asks right when he opens the door. It's an almost tactless approach but seems the logical one to voice out loud.

Blaine laughs, humorless and hollow, like the inside of an old tree in danger of collapsing at any second, and, in all honesty, Kurt thinks, that's how Blaine looks at this moment. "No. At least, I don't think so."

"Good." Kurt beckons him in, stepping aside and shutting the door behind him. The air in the foyer swirls cool-hot, the A/C overpowering the last vestiges of the heat outside. There's no one else home for the day, except maybe Finn if he _ever _decides to show up from wherever he disappeared off to last night, Rachel's or Puck's or something, Kurt doesn't know and doesn't care.

"I've missed you at school," Blaine says, voice soft and slightly hesitant, almost like he's afraid to admit this out loud. He's shifting from foot to foot, fiddling with his fingers, decimating his lip with worrisome teeth.

"You've had it easier," Kurt says, stepping close and taking Blaine's hands in his, linking their fingers together like an inseparable bond. "I've had to threaten myself to avoid unnecessary online shopping." He swings their clasped hands slightly, one corner of his mouth turning up into a smile, trying to coax one out of Blaine. "You look sad."

Blaine shrugs but Kurt thinks that he can see a slight hint of a smile, at least a half-hearted attempt, and Blaine leans forward enough to lightly press their lips together. "I've been trying not to think, I swear," he says in reference to their pact. "It was just difficult to do when you weren't there."

Kurt presses their foreheads together, says, "We have got to be the worst couple in the world."

"Why?" Up close, Blaine's eyes are wide, black-and-honey. He blinks, like he's confused.

"All we do is mope," Kurt says, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Where's the excitement in that?"

Now Blaine laughs, prompted and the sound airy and so, so welcome, so unlike the one from before. "I like what we have," he says. "I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Kurt wouldn't trade _anything_ that involved Blaine for the world. "C'mon," he says, tugging Blaine's arm. "It's nice outside. I was thinking… we could go swimming? If you want."

Blaine smiles. "You know I'd never turn down a chance to see you shirtless."

"Cheeky," Kurt says, but his rising blush automatically negates the annoyed tone he'd been going for. Unfortunately, this had been his sort of excuse to see Blaine shirtless and wet because it's been a long winter and he needs to get this in while he still can.

"Yeah, those either," Blaine says with a wink and his old self is back and Kurt's blush ignites hotter than ever because he's still not _used_ to this, to being openly flirted with and propositioned.

"Come on, you horndog," Kurt says, smacking Blaine's ass when he heads for the stairs. "Let's go change."

****xxxxXxxxx****

The swimming is nice for a half-hour, after Kurt's slathered on waterproof sunblock—with the help of Blaine and a promise to keep everything G-rated and strictly helpful—and Blaine's dived into the pool with an effortless grace that Kurt wishes he could possess.

And it's _not fair_ when Blaine surfaces and swims over to the edge, shaking his hair out like some men's cologne commercial. Kurt's still sitting on the poolside chair, debating whether or not to actually get in the water or just watch his boyfriend swim and see his trunks slide lower and lower down his hips with every lap around the pool.

He ends up joining when Blaine forcibly grabs him and they both topple in with shrieks and a loud splash.

"You—_ass_," Kurt gasps, wiping water out of his eyes and shaking his head, purposely spraying a grinning Blaine with water. "I could have _drowned_."

"Nonsense." Blaine swims closer. "You're perfectly safe in this five-foot-deep water."

"Must be why you need to _swim_, then," Kurt snaps back, no real heat to it, and Blaine brays out a laugh that squeaks at the end, and Kurt joins in nearly immediately because that laugh, that carefree everything-is-awesome laugh is his favorite.

Blaine swims closer, crowds Kurt against the side of the pool, water rippling and splashing around them as he brackets Kurt's body with his arms. "You know, there's no one around," he whispers, lips following a droplet of water as it slides down Kurt's jaw, his neck. "We could… take advantage of the pool."

The dynamic suddenly shifts, everything heating up.

Kurt stares at the droplets littering Blaine's shoulders and neck, all catching the sunlight and glittering like individual jewels. Blaine's naturally dark skin looks somehow even darker, and whenever he moves Kurt can see the muscles shift under the skin. He swallows. It's amazing what finally caving in to your most natural instinct will do to you, will change you and make you think in ways you never believed you would.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Kurt says, though his argument is weak. It actually sounds like a _great_ idea, and Kurt wants nothing more than to wrap his legs around Blaine's waist and grind against him until they both come. Blaine rolls his eyes and presses closer, torso to torso, and Kurt has to bite back a moan at the feel of Blaine so close, and like Blaine knows how much Kurt's resolve is wavering he presses his lips back to Kurt's neck, one hand coming up to tangle in Kurt's hair, twine the wet strands around his fingers and tug gently, enough to jostle Kurt's head slightly and elicit a tiny moan and tilt of the hips.

"Other people _swim_ in this pool, Blaine," Kurt hisses, clutching uselessly at Blaine's back, digging blunt nails into damp skin, pressing in like he's going to fall, collapse, _disappear_ at any second. "_Rachel_ swims in this pool. God, _Carole_ swims here."

"I didn't say _come_ in the pool," Blaine whispers, and, _oh_, flicks his tongue out to trace the curve of Kurt's ear. "Who's to say I wasn't thinking about us just… kissing." He lets go of Kurt's hair, trails his hand down Kurt's chest, across his peaked nipples, his flat abdomen, down until he reaches the waistband of Kurt's swim trunks. He pauses before going lower; grasping Kurt's hardening cock through the slick fabric, rubbing back-forth, squeezing and pulsing his fingers. "And maybe a little bit of that."

Kurt moans and, okay, fuck it. He grabs Blaine's chin and pulls him away from his neck, leans down and presses their lips together rough, deepening the kiss immediately. He loops his arms around Blaine's shoulders, hooks a leg around Blaine's waist and lets the gentle motion of the water rock their bodies together.

"You're so hot," Blaine whispers, pecking a kiss to Kurt's lips, forehead, the dimple in his chin. "You turn me on so much."

Kurt lets out a little whine, something that's almost completely involuntary. It's still just the _thought_, the obvious reaction and result that he can do this to someone, that he can turn someone on and make them _come_. That someone _wants_ to come because of him.

"Oh, god, Blaine," he gasps, and already he's close, teetering at the edge with his body trembling, nerves on overdrive. All over he feels flushed, skin too-tight, the water lapping at his chest a thousand degrees hotter than the sun striking down on his back, inevitably reddening his skin but still making Blaine's _glow_.

It's freeing, uplifting, to be able to experience this now and not until New York like he'd always had to make himself believe. Feeling a body, a _boy_, pressed so unabashedly close makes Kurt's heart pound and breath catch in his throat. _Feeling_ another boy's dick, swollen hard and full and pressed against his thigh, is exactly like he'd always imagined it, only a million times better and sharper because it's real and not a fleeting fantasy he'd only let himself visit when everyone was asleep and his bedroom lights were off.

"I know that your exhibitionism kink is adorable sometimes and all," Kurt says, forcing the words out even as Blaine brings a leg between his thighs and rubs upward, one hand sliding back under the water to grab the underside of Kurt's thigh and hike his leg higher, "but let's not do this where everyone can see. Specifically Miss Stone. She's a terrible gossip."

"Who's she going to tell?" Blaine grits out, sucking a mark into Kurt's collarbone. "Her cats?"

"She's in a sorority," Kurt moans, rubbing his palm over one of Blaine's nipples, rolling it between his fingers until Blaine's jerking and whining, pressing his cock harder against Kurt's. "The old ladies of Lima love to gossip about their neighbors, especially when one of said neighbors is gay and is _dry-humping_ his boyfriend in his pool."

"Mmm, more like wet-humping," Blaine says, kissing Kurt until they're both panting and flushed, and how did Kurt get so lucky again? Blaine, with his full, red lips, wet from water and saliva, cheeks dusted pink high on his cheekbones, hair curly and plastered to his forehead, sticking up in tufts where Kurt's dug his fingers into it, is more than Kurt could have ever asked for.

"_Blaine_." Kurt's tone turns serious now, and as wonderful as grinding up against his boyfriend feels, he's been thinking about while they have experimented in the past with places and positions and words, they can do _more_, and more is what Kurt wants for a hot summer afternoon. "What if I said that I had something else in mind for today?"

"Depends," Blaine answers, words warm and content as he grinds against Kurt again.

"Remember that time you asked about us being adventurous?"

"I do," Blaine says, nipping at Kurt's jaw, pulling them closer, the gentle splashing of water added alongside the soft songs of the birds perched in the treetops. "And I remember that it didn't end too well the first time."

Kurt shakes his head to try to rid himself of images of Sebastian and unfortunate gay bars and too much alcohol and backseat kissing that had him wanting _more, please, more_ when he should have been wanting _less, this isn't right, stop_. "I think you'll like this idea," Kurt says, and that's enough to get Blaine pulling back and staring with wide, curious eyes and kiss-abused lips.

"Tell me more," he says, and Kurt can't help but laugh and frame Blaine's face in his hands, stroking fingers through dark, wet curls and leaning close to breathe, inhale chlorine and toothpaste and _Blaine_.

"Let me show you."

****xxxxXxxxx****

It's such a sweet sight to see Blaine on his knees, hands dutifully held behind his back, one of Kurt's old silk ties fashioned over his eyes and knotted in the back. Hair still damp from their swim, corded muscles flexing as he must silently tell himself not to move, not to try and reach out like he wants to.

It's perfect. It's beautiful.

"Kurt." His name comes out of Blaine's mouth in a sandpaper-rough whisper, broken and fraying like an old rope, like brittle glass, ready to shatter and spew in a thousand different directions. "_Please_."

Blaine is beautiful when he begs. When he's tied up and incarcerated.

"Open your mouth, baby," Kurt coos, and when the reaction is immediate, Blaine's mouth dropping open and pink tongue flat, out, ready, Kurt groans. He gently places a hand on the back of Blaine's head, rubs fingertips across silk and is glad that he has old ties to spare because this one is probably going to be unusable after this.

Blaine unconsciously leans forward, unconsciously groans low and ends it with another whine, and then Kurt is rubbing the head of his cock against Blaine's lips, smearing pre-come and pulling back slightly to watch it string, to watch Blaine's tongue chase it. Before he's even aware he's doing it, a thumb is tracing Blaine's lush bottom lip, catching a smear left, and Blaine's sucking it into his mouth before Kurt can pull away, laving his tongue along the pad of Kurt's thumb with a satisfied moan.

He is, honestly, sort of surprised that Blaine had said yes. This is something that he's been thinking on for months now but had always been too afraid to even bring it up. And while they have explored the boundaries of their love life in the past months, nothing had ever gotten as far as something as downright _kinky_ as this, and that's exactly what this is: it's kinky. It's borderline fetishist. It's something Kurt's only ever heard of in predictable, clichéd gay-themed books and everyone's automatic assumption of gays in general.

And seeing Blaine, helpless like he is, hands bound (though of their own will) and blindfolded, relying only on Kurt, trusting him _completely_, he can understand the appeal of it.

Kurt slides his cock between Blaine's lips, bites his lip and gasps at the wet heat, and immediately Blaine's mouth is closing around him, cheeks hollowing as he slides down and back up, tongue swirling patterns on the underside, nostrils flared as he breathes harshly through his nose.

Kurt imagines that Blaine's eyes would be fluttering right now, dark lashes fanned across his skin and eyes blown wide, shaded dark, with lust and sheer need. There's something poetically beautiful about Blaine right now, something about the thin red tie across his eyes, the shine of saliva on lips stretched tight around the girth of Kurt's cock, on his chin.

This is a far cry from a harmless video made to help Kurt acclimate further to the world of sex and the most basic kind of vulnerability, intimacy, known to man. Eight months ago he never would have been able to imagine Blaine, the kind, gentle boy who'd been so thorough, so caring and loving that first time on a November night, like this, _allowing_ himself to be like this.

"Fuck, Blaine." He can't help the noises, the words, that spill out of his mouth as Blaine sucks harder, bobs his head with the careful guidance of Kurt's hand in his hair, the knot of the tie, slick, wet noises filling the gaps when it's usually both their voices rising and falling in filthy adulation of the other.

He has to resist the urge to grab Blaine's hair, order him still, and work his cock in and out of Blaine's lips, down his throat until he's hoarse. Instead, he gently cups Blaine's cheek, strokes his fingers across the skin for a moment before moving down to the corner of Blaine's mouth where saliva trickles out in a clear line, where the skin is stretched red and thin, where the hard length of Kurt's cock is buried deep.

Blaine whimpers, pulls his head back to suck on the head of Kurt's cock, clumsily kissing it then dipping his tongue into the slit, swirling it around the smooth skin, under the ridge and the nerves that has Kurt keening and pushing forward. "Wish I could see you," he rasps, and Kurt lets his gaze travel down Blaine's body, past his heaving chest and well-defined abs and hips, all the way down to where Blaine's cock is flushed red and full between his legs, jutting heavy and leaking pre-come. "I bet you look so pretty."

Kurt can't help his scoff; it's a second-nature thing, and Blaine always has these ridiculous corny porn lines that he likes to throw around whenever he can. He watches Blaine's shoulders flex, watches a bead of sweat begin its journey from hairline to neck, thinks Blaine is so lucky he's hot and too loveable, because the amount he sweats cannot be appealing or healthy on anyone else.

"You look gorgeous," Kurt says, and it's the absolute truth. Blaine submitting _is_ gorgeous because he's one of the strongest people that Kurt knows. "My cock in your mouth, your eyes covered by my tie."

Blaine moans, high, desperate and so many other things. He shifts on his knees, cock bobbing with his slight movements, and Kurt unconsciously licks his lips, wishes he could take Blaine in his hand and stroke, twist, until he's coming hard and fast and rocking up with the force of it.

He's close when he slides his cock back into Blaine's mouth, can feel it licking at him, waiting just off stage. Blaine's biceps twitch, strain, and he lets out a broken noise, something that's a cross between a moan and a whine, something that means he's close, and, _god_, he hasn't even touched himself yet.

"Blaine, I—I'm gonna," Kurt gasps, and he can feel Blaine tilt his head back at the same time that he starts to pull out, and before he can even begin to understand what this means, what Blaine apparently wants, he's sliding his palm along the length of his dick and he's coming in thick streaks on Blaine's face, on the fabric of his old tie. White collects on Blaine's lips, his chin and nose and tongue, and through it all Blaine is moaning desperately, moaning the way he had when they'd gotten the hotel room, loud and unabashed, like he wants everyone to know, and just as Kurt's saying "You can—" Blaine is dropping a hand to his cock, pulling desperately only a few times before he's spilling over his fist with a keen.

With shaking hands Kurt undoes the knot on the tie, slips it off Blaine's head and lets it fall to the floor in a heap of ruined fabric. Kurt drops to his knees, gathers Blaine up and kisses him, licks away the come Blaine hasn't gotten to yet, and he's so past this being gross, being weird, and through it all Blaine is still blinking blearily, newborn-like, adjusting to the light.

"Well. Shit," he says, following it up with a laugh, and Kurt's smiling brightly, widely, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "That was… something else."

"A good something else?" Kurt asks, and he can't help but be worried because he hadn't run any of this by with Blaine in advance, had just sprung it after they'd gotten out of the pool and Blaine had said yes with bright eyes and enthusiastic kisses that meant the smooth, wet slide of his tongue against Kurt's.

Blaine kisses him in that same enthusiastic way, cupping Kurt's cheek with his free hand, swapping remnants of come and Kurt could stay like this forever, post-orgasm and nearly boneless. "God, yes," he says with a breathless laugh. "Very good."

The floor of Kurt's bedroom isn't comfortable, and Kurt is hyperaware that they're still naked and damp, sweaty and Blaine still has streaks of his own come across his abdomen and on his hand, but he doesn't want to move. Not yet.

"I want to stay like this forever," he says, tangling their fingers together. "When we're young and spontaneous."

"Oh, so you're okay with spontaneous now?" Blaine asks, turning his head and pressing lips against Kurt's jaw. "I seem to recall you having a slight aversion to that."

"Only when you're drunk," Kurt quips. "Which seems to be a lot."

"Drunk on your love," Blaine replies, words dripping saccharine, and though he may be joking Kurt knows that, deep down, he means every word, and it's that conscious thought, that knowledge, that has him leaning down and rubbing their noses together, pressing a gentle kiss to Blaine's lips and laying them both back on the carpet.

He really wishes that this could be the endless summer, but he's already planning something that he hopes will make the lonely fall months go by quickly.


	10. Watch You Work The Room

Title from "The (After) Life Of The Party" by Fall Out Boy.  
>Warnings are: webcam sex, toy usage, slight dirtytalk, my awful poetry skills.<p>

THIS IS IT, GUYS. We've come to the final chapter. And it's a long one.

Reviewers and all those who stuck around: a big, big, big eternal thank you from the bottom of my heart. You made me smile through your reviews and encouragements and inadvertently gave me the strength not to give up.

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

****xxxxXxxxx****

Time flies, summer goes in a blur of pool parties and barbeques and sex outside late on moonlight nights, and suddenly it's almost over and it's early August, just a few days before Kurt's scheduled flight to New York. His ticket is up on his bulletin board, next to a photo of him and Blaine at one of Rachel's parties.

New York. The city he's dreamed about for as long as he can remember. The place he's fantasized about getting to for years. He should be excited—and don't get him wrong, he _is_—but now all he can think of is Blaine, his Blaine, stuck here in Lima for another year, going at McKinley almost alone.

He closes his top drawer and tucks the handful of rolled-together socks into his open suitcase. Nothing looks too different about his room: the sheets are still on, pillows still propped up against the headboard (his new sets of sheets and comforter and pillows are in a separate suitcase), and most of the stuff is still on his walls and dressers. The only things visibly missing are photos of everyone: him and Blaine, New Directions, Finn and Dad and Carole.

Still, something feels… off. Different. An air of loneliness, perhaps, hovers heavy over the room. He's only going to sleep in this room for a few more nights and then he'll be gone. No matter how ready he had thought that he was, when it comes down to those final moments and that shocking realization, Kurt's just _not_.

He's got his big-city dreams and he plans to follow up on every single one of them (with maybe a few already crossed out), but what lies ahead of him is nothing short of an adventure, and Kurt's not had a lot of those in his lifetime.

He sits down on the edge of his bed, letting the springs creak as they support his weight. On this bed is where he was inside of Blaine for the first time, where he gave his first blowjob, where he's spent countless nights crying and also countless nights spent awake on the phone with Blaine until one of them falls asleep.

It's all just memories now, no more reality. Reality is New York and a dorm and some guy he hardly even knows sleeping just feet away from him every night. Reality is him starting a new life in a new state.

From downstairs he hears Carole call him to dinner and thinks with a pinched feeling behind his eyes that that's something that he won't hear again for months after this.

He zips up his suitcase and heads downstairs.

****xxxxXxxxx****

"I can't believe that I'm leaving tomorrow," Kurt says into the phone that night when he and Blaine are doing their usual skincare routine. "And that this is the last night for us to do this together."

He hears Blaine laugh on the other line, then faintly the sound of running water accompanies it. _"Your dreams are much more important than our skincare routine, Kurt, believe me."_

"It's not just _you_," Kurt says, leaning closer to the mirror to rub exfoliant over the bridge of his nose. "It's…" He sighs and drops his hands, gesturing uselessly. "Lima's my home, as much as I hate it. You're just the amazing bonus that came along with it."

He sighs and stares at his reflection, wondering, as he has many, many times before, who he _really_ is. Is he the sad gay kid from Lima who'd been bullied and tortured and threatened for most of his life, or is he the normal high school graduate who just so happens to be gay with a perfect boyfriend and who's happier than he ever has been?

_"Kurt."_ Blaine says his name warningly, like he knows what Kurt's thinking. _"You deserve to get out of here, babe. No one deserves it more than you."_

Kurt rinses off the exfoliant, patting his face dry with the fluffy towel he keeps at the edge of the sink. "I know," he says, looking down at his phone where it sits on the sink. He _does_ know how hard he's worked to get out of here, to work toward seeing his name in lights one way or another, whether it be Broadway or a Times Square billboard.

_"I'll always be here waiting for you,"_ Blaine supplies. _"Right here in Lima until I graduate and then you can move out of your cramped dorm and into an even more cramped apartment with me. _And_ have the bonus of real-life New York City cockroaches being your bathroom buddies."_

Kurt gets that welcoming fuzzy warm feeling behind his navel as Blaine says those words. He's always put off talking about their future besides asking if Blaine would ever come to New York with him just because he hadn't wanted to get his hopes up. They're solid, yes, and completely and stupidly in love, but they're also just teenagers, and let's face it: teenagers aren't always great at monogamy or juggling school, work, and a relationship.

But somewhere during the summer, over starry nights on picnic blankets and hot afternoons in the pool or in the shaded hammock in Blaine's backyard, it had come up and neither had backed down. It had been Blaine who had mentioned that he'd been looking at New York schools and proceeded to blushingly ask Kurt if he'd ever considered an apartment.

_Considered_ was far too insignificant a word, in Kurt's opinion. They'd spent the afternoon discussing beds and jobs to pay the rent and the convenience of take-out versus actual homemade meals.

"You'll be the only bathroom buddy I'll need," Kurt says wistfully, screwing the lid back on the jar of cream. He opens another and squirts out a dollop and begins to smooth it into his skin.

_"Will the shower be big enough for that?"_

Kurt blushes and clears his throat in an extremely undignified way as a memory resurfaces in his mind. He dabs on a little acne treatment medicine over his problem areas and says, "And you'd think you'd have learned your lesson after what happened in June."

_"It's your fault for not having a bathmat on the shower floor. Seriously, who doesn't do that? It's like asking to try to cheat death every time you take a shower. Your life is going to turn into _Final Destination_, Kurt, I can tell already."_

Kurt laughs. "The lack of a bathmat works better when it's just me, I promise. I think it's just you who's cheating death."

_"Just don't have any crazy premonitions before you get on that plane tomorrow."_

"If I do, you'll be the first to know, I promise."

Water runs in the background and it takes Blaine a minute or so to answer. _"So, you know, it's your last night and you'll be too busy for awhile…"_

"Goodnight, Blaine," Kurt says, still smiling.

Blaine's own smile is audible._ "Goodnight, darling."_

****xxxxXxxxx****

The sun is barely up when Burt pulls up in front of Blaine's house in Carole's Escape. The trunk is crammed with Kurt's luggage and Finn's pressed against one window while Kurt's pressed against the other, phone held in his lap as he waits for the front door to open.

Blaine's notorious for never being up or getting ready on time. Kurt's lost count of how many dates have been postponed because Blaine forgot to shower or got too caught up in homework or whatever to notice what time it was or to hear Kurt ringing the doorbell until a disgruntled Mr. Anderson opened it and herded Kurt upstairs.

Thankfully, though, it's only a matter of minutes before the door's opening and Blaine's stepping out, hair still slightly mussed. The slight grin Kurt feels his lips curving into isn't stopped, and he scoots over closer to Finn when Blaine approaches the door and opens it.

"Good morning, bedhead," Kurt says with a laugh, pecking Blaine's lips and tasting the minty bite of toothpaste. Blaine buckles his seatbelt and flashes a winning smile back at Kurt.

"Just be thankful you got me up before the sun and I'm in one piece," Blaine says.

Kurt presses close and rests his head on Blaine's shoulder, Blaine's hand coming up seconds later to rest on his thigh. When Kurt covers Blaine's hand with his own, thumb stroking absent patterns over the tanned skin, he pretends not to notice Carole's slightly-tearful smile in the rearview mirror.

****xxxxXxxxx****

"I swore I wouldn't cry today," Kurt sniffles, pressing the back of his hand to his nose. "I don't need to land in New York looking like a trainwreck."

"Even on your worst days you're still stunning," Blaine says, smoothing Kurt's collar. He looks up at Kurt. "You're always beautiful to me."

"You old sap," Kurt says fondly, blinking rapidly to push back the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He's really here. _Really_. All those months of studying and singing and sewing have paid off and given him a ticket—literally—to his dreams. "I think this is how the passengers of the _Titanic_ felt before she sailed."

Blaine laughs and grabs his arm, tugs him close. Kurt lets out a surprised noise but doesn't push him away, though he does warily look around before relaxing fully into Blaine's hold.

"Just remember," Blaine whispers in his ear, the fine brush of his eyelashes dampening the skin of Kurt's neck, "if you feel lonely, Dorothy, click your heels, say 'There's no place like home,' and call me."

Kurt laughs. "I'll remember that."

"I want you to have this," Blaine says suddenly, pulling back and pressing something cold and heavy into Kurt's palm before closing his fingers around it and stepping away,

Kurt unfurls his hand, stares at the gold pocket watch nestled in his palm, chain curled loosely around the cover. "What is this?"

"It's my old pocket watch," Blaine says. "It's… the one I was looking at when you first stopped me on the staircase. I don't use it often, but that day I had forgotten my phone in my dorm and I needed to know the time, and I always carry this around with me because it was my grandfather's, and, well… just look on the back."

Kurt flips it over, the chain tumbling out of his palm to hang loosely down past his hand, swinging gently, and traces the pad of his index finger from his other hand over the words inscribed on the back.

_You are the day to my night_

_The fall to my spring_

_The clock stops without you—_

_Darling, you are my everything_

It's too much. This day, the voices booming over loudspeaker announcing flights and boarding times, this one last gift from Blaine, and he's really doing it. He's really leaving Lima. His breath hitches and his vision blurs as a lump catches deep in his throat.

"My grandma had it inscribed before my grandfather went off to war," Blaine's saying somewhere millions of galaxies off. "She wanted him to know that she was always with him, even in battle."

So Kurt does it. He doesn't care who's watching, doesn't care that families are pushing past them, screaming kids dragged along by their mothers, harried businessmen with iPhones and BlackBerries pressed tight between their ear and shoulder as they carry a briefcase in one hand and a cup of venti drip Starbucks in the other. He curls his fist tight around the pocket watch and launches himself forward and back into Blaine's embrace.

And he kisses him. He kisses him and never wants to let go, never wants to forget the warmth of Blaine's lips against his, the strong feel of his arms where they go around his waist and the grounding press of his palms to Kurt's lower back as he pulls him in closer. It's a big _fuck you_ to everyone who's looking at them with disdain over their newspapers and fattening airport food. His tongue in Blaine's mouth, his arms twined around Blaine's neck, pulling him yet closer, it's his way of saying _I'm leaving all you simple-minded assholes behind and I don't regret a single second of it_.

"I always told you that I'm never saying goodbye to you," Kurt breathes out when they break, pressing his forehead to Blaine's. "And I'm going to keep saying it until we're old and gross and can't move off the couch without breaking a hip or exploding into dust."

Blaine squeezes his waist. "I believe you."

They're interrupted by the loudspeaker announcing Kurt's flight, and that hand in Kurt's stomach twists violently and it's all he can do not to break down.

"Kurt, buddy, let's go," Burt says.

Kurt looks wide-eyed at Blaine, sees the tears brimming in his hazel eyes, sees the small twitch of his lips that means he's working hard to keep his expression neutral. "Looks like our time's up, little dove."

"I love you," Kurt chokes out, kissing him again, then again. "I love you so much, B."

They hug once more, pressed tight like they could sink together and become one, never to be apart, and then Kurt's turning away, grabbing his carryon from his dad and bidding his family goodbye. He clutches Blaine's pocket watch harder in his hand, and with one last parting glance and a wave, disappears into the crowd.

****xxxxXxxxx****

On Saturday Kurt wakes up to his phone buzzing on the cheap wooden table by his bed. With a groan, he sits up and blindly feels around for it, unwilling to open his eyes yet. Gerard hadn't gone to bed until late last night, and the room next door had been playing dubstep until the early hours of the morning. Kurt _still_ doesn't understand it.

He perks up a little when he sees Blaine's name, though, and tries to push through the fog of sleep to read it.

_Date night tonight! Be Skype-ready by eight your time :)_

Kurt lets out a groggy laugh. _And I have no say in this?_

_Nope! And now you can finally open your package_

Oh, the package. Blaine had mailed what Kurt's assuming is a care package a few days after he'd arrived and texted Blaine the address. When it had arrived Kurt had been ready to open it, but a large DO NOT OPEN had deterred him. It's been killing him all week.

_Thank god._

_:) see you at eight—I'm missing your cute laugh_

_And I'm missing your disgusting sense of romanticism._

_Love yewww_

_Oh, Blaine._

_And I love you, too, goofball._

****xxxxXxxxx****

"Hi, baby," Kurt breathes when Blaine's face shows up on his screen, too-blue in the light of his laptop, fuzzy and grainy and too far away. It's like something inside of him releases, a tension melted away and a weight lifted. It's Blaine, and it's ridiculous that Kurt's first thought is _he hasn't changed_ since, obviously, he hasn't.

"Hi, handsome," Blaine says, a smile quirking his lips. His voice comes across tinny and slightly delayed and somehow he still manages to be stunning and classically handsome. "I really, really miss you."

"I've only been gone a week." Kurt tries to laugh, but it chokes and dies off somewhere in the middle as he feels tears prick at his eyes and constrict his throat. He's been gone a _week_. Nearly seven days he's been in New York, in the city of his _dreams_, in his new dorm room with his new roommate, a guy named Gerard who's really cute and surprisingly okay with Kurt being gay. "We've been apart longer."

"Yeah, but that was when you were a two-hour drive away," Blaine says. "At least then I could tell myself that I could just drive and visit you if I wanted." He sounds downcast, teeth worrying his lower lip. He adjusts the angle of his laptop and for a second Kurt gets a shot of Blaine's abdomen and the tight wifebeater covering it. He unconsciously licks his lip and swallows, fidgeting as every single moment they've had alone together floods his mind with surprising speed.

Blaine's never really admitted before to needing Kurt besides offhand comments and the heartbreaking confessions before and after Blaine's eye surgery when he'd been doped up on painkillers. There have been the times when he's called late at night, voice tiny and threadbare, but he's never told Kurt that he's comforted himself with the thought that they're just a drive away from each other. It reminds Kurt that there's still a lot that they don't know about each other even after all this time.

"Run away," Kurt half-jokes. "Be a deviant and live in the corrupted New York streets while you debate whether or not to make up for that one year of high school. I can hide you under my bed in my dorm and sneak you bits of pizza that Gerard doesn't eat."

"I'm not a dog," Blaine protests, but Kurt can clearly tell that he's smiling anyway.

"And besides," Blaine continues, words rolling out of his mouth in a low purr, eyes falling half-mast as he tries to bat his eyelashes seductively, though the effect is lost somewhere in the connection of pixels and delayed video, "I'd much rather be sleeping _in_ your bed."

Kurt laughs, then, genuine and loud, almost a bark, and then he wonders if the rooms next door heard him. "Sadly, Gerard and I already established that if anyone extra is going to be staying over we have to alert the other. I don't want to walk in on any boobs and he says that his penis is enough, thanks."

"I should hope that anyone 'extra' bears a striking resemblance to me and answers to Blaine."

Kurt scoffs. "Of course, who do you think I am? Your dick is the only one for me."

"Oh, speaking of dick, did you get my package?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow at the abrupt change of topic and somehow manages to hide his excited smile at finally seeing what's in that damned box. "How _that_ got you there, I'll never know. But you mean the one that says 'do not open'?"

Blaine smiles, and underneath it is something mischievous, playful with a hint of something else that's hard to place. It should worry Kurt, but he's been gone from Blaine for too long and right now he just wants to soak everything in again, revisit everything that he'd taken for granted back in Lima. "That's the one."

"You know," Kurt says, "the point of care packages is that the recipient is supposed to _open _it."

Blaine says, "Go get it," and there's no denying it now that Blaine's hiding something. His voice has slipped a little lower, edging just to this side of scratchy.

Kurt gets off his bed and reaches into the storage space underneath, extracting Blaine's package. It's small, nothing huge or heavy, and it's in the basic cardboard shipping box. The only thing different is the carefully labeled DO NOT OPEN taped on with packaging tape.

He sits back in front of his laptop, holding onto it as he settles down so that it doesn't fall. "All right, I got it. Now what?"

"Open it."

Using a pair of scissors from his desk, Kurt cuts the packaging tape, and for a few moments there's only the sound of cardboard flaps being moved, tape being ripped off, and the squeaking of packing peanuts as Kurt shifts them around, searching the contents. The first thing he comes in contact with is the thin paper sleeve for a CD, and he pulls it out, forgetting how to breathe because the _last_ time Blaine had given him something like this, well….

"Blaine, you'd better—" Kurt starts, voice higher than usual. He's immediately remembering November and a seemingly innocuous DVD handed to him at his locker one cold morning that changed the whole dynamic of their relationship.

"Flip it over and read the sleeve." Blaine's voice is full of mirth, and Kurt wishes that this was in person so that his glare wasn't diluted by a bad webcam connection.

Obeying, Kurt flips the CD over in his hand, and on the other side in Blaine's tidy, all-caps scrawl is **For my New York Superstar—before you can go to Broadway I'm going to bring Broadway to you.**

"It's every powerhouse ballad that I could sing," Blaine says. "I accidentally let it slip to Rachel and it was all I could do to keep her away, though I think she may have snuck one or two songs of her own on there."

"I—" Kurt's voice fails him as a fresh wave of tears floods his eyes, and he has to give himself a moment to compose, taking deep yoga breaths and tilting his head back. "God, Blaine… Sweetheart, I love you so much. Thank you."

"I love you, too," Blaine says. "If I could touch the screen and you could see it I would."

Kurt smiles and sets the CD down, touching his hand to his computer screen. "I am anyway."

Blaine laughs, says, "I wish I could kiss you right now. I miss it."

"Mm," Kurt says, searching through the box, pulling a stack of magazines out next. On top is _Vogue_, followed by _Cosmopolitan_, and then… "Blaine!"

His response is a loud laugh. "That one's totally a joke, I swear," he says as Kurt stares, dumbfounded, at the _Men_ magazine in his hands. "I know you don't do porn."

"At least you didn't get _Playgirl_," Kurt says, carefully concealing the muscle mag underneath the others. "Then you'd make me the ultimate cliché gay."

He's just about to close the flaps—the only thing else he can see are some jars of peanut butter and Nutella along with a few Luna Bars—when Blaine stops him,

"Nuh-uh. You're not done with your care package," Blaine says. "Underneath the peanut butter and Nutella—oh, come on, it's the embodiment of every college mom-package ever!—you'll find something… else."

A little twist forms low in Kurt's stomach, heating up gradually as he takes everything into account. He's not the fresh-faced naïve teenager he was a year ago, and innuendo _definitely_ doesn't fall on deaf ears anymore. He digs through the package, bypassing the containers and bars of food, and finally, near the bottom, his fingers enclose around something long and smooth.

Well, smooth until he shifts his finger and the pad of it bumps into a thin, raised line. He holds his breath as he lifts his hand up, _thinking no, it can't _be, and when he lifts it up, _fuck_, it _is_.

It's Blaine's dildo, ribbon wrapped around the shaft, makeshift notecard attached that says _thought you could use something that's been inside both of us xo_

"Blaine." Kurt's voice cracks, peters out and his face heats up in both embarrassment and arousal. He's holding his boyfriend's dildo, the same dildo he'd watched Blaine fuck himself on, the same one _he'd_ fucked himself on.

Blaine's voice is a little deeper when he replies, and this time it's not joking, not some fleeting little moment of faux sexiness before diving right back into his usual playful attitude. "I fucking miss you so much," he says, and it's serious when he swears outside of the heat of the moment when it's bare sweaty skin and grunts and groans versus now, when they're clothed and just beginning to feel the strains of want and need. "I just… I miss touching you and making you come, and it's only been a week, _god_, but I miss the feel of you inside of me. I miss sucking you off and eating you out, and, and—_Kurt_."

Blaine groans out his name, lets his inhibition go and brings his hand down to his lap, working his palm back and forth as he tips his head back. Kurt's transfixed by the column of his throat, the neck he remembers tasting and marking over the past year. He's transfixed by _Blaine_. He always is.

"Oh, god," he moans, and that's all it takes for him to reach down, curl his hand around his hardening cock and pretend like it's Blaine doing it. He revisits countless makeout sessions when this had been Blaine's hand as they kissed deep and wet and dirty, squeezing his fingers and rubbing until Kurt was hard and leaking and arching up into the slightest touch.

"You gotta talk," Blaine gasps, squeezing his own cock. "I know you don't often, but Kurt, please."

"I wish it was you," Kurt says immediately, eyes sliding shut against their own volition as he uses his free hand to pinch at his nipple through his shirt. "I'm imagining that it's you, sweetheart. Your hands, your wet mouth and big cock working me open, taking me in every way…"

A whine bubbles high in the back of Blaine's throat, working its way up and out. "_Kurt_. Why do you have to be so far away?" He sounds childish, sad because he didn't get his way, and Kurt can't help but crack a smile.

"Pretend like I'm not tonight," Kurt says. It comes out like a command and Blaine obeys it as one, attentive and listening and at the ready. "Watch me fuck myself on your dildo and pretend like I'm right there next to you."

Blaine swears, then, pushes down the waistband of his sweatpants without preamble to wiggle them to his knees and slip his cock out of his boxers, pushing the waistband below his balls. Kurt lets out a soft, involuntary moan as Blaine takes himself in hand, pre-come glistening on the head. His cock is dark, thick, veins prominent but not overly so, and Kurt would be hard-pressed to forget what it felt like in his hand, throat, his _ass_.

"Oh my god, I missed your cock," Kurt groans without thinking about it, and usually that would make him apologize but he just can't, not when Blaine's working his hand on his cock like he is, jacking hard and fast and rough and that has to hurt, it _has_ to, but Blaine just moans like he's getting fucked and jerks even rougher.

"That's it?" Blaine teases, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the head, stroking slow, languid, up-down once. "Not my personality or killer good looks or amazing charm?"

"Secondary and irrelevant things." Kurt waves it off, lifting up his own hips to slide his pajama bottoms down, briefs following a second later as he reaches into his drawer to grab the lube. He flushes when he discovers that Blaine's watching him, biting down on his bottom lip, and if the quality wasn't so shitty Kurt knows he'd be able to see Blaine's eyes, dark and dilated and hooded, see the thin sheen of sweat build on his collarbones, see his nipples, tight and dark and peaked.

It's a little strange to be doing this somewhere new, like he's randomly invaded someone's house. The dorm still doesn't quite feel like home, though he thinks that he and Gerard did a fairly decent job of fixing it up, even bonding while doing it. By the end of the semester it might fare better, he thinks. He's trembling when he pops open the cap, legs shaking and aching to be stretched out.

But with Blaine on his laptop screen, hand around his cock and already looking close, looking decidedly ruffled and wanton, Kurt can imagine that it's already somewhat home. He looks unsure for a moment, staring at the dildo before working the ribbon and card off it with his clean hand, warming up the lube in dextrous fingers with the other.

"How—?" he begins.

"Spread your legs," Blaine says automatically. "I want to see."

It feels like the few times that it had when he'd watched porn, spread out in front of no one, but this time there _is_ someone, a someone who's paying extremely close attention as Kurt slips his first finger in, then two as he adjusts, stroking absent fingers along the length of his cock.

Three fingers later and Kurt's thighs are screaming, heart pounding as he twists and works those fingers in and out with soft squelches of lube. The soft cashmere blanket he has covering his bed shifts when his feet do, and he should be more afraid that his laptop is also resting on it but he just can't find it in himself to care about anything right now that isn't getting something inside him immediately.

"Fuck, Blaine," he whines, crooking his fingers and just barely missing his prostate. "Wish it was your mouth, _god_, your mouth and your everything, oh my god, yes, _yes_."

"Kurt," Blaine pants, and when Kurt looks to the screen Blaine's leaning down to spit on his cock, and it should be gross, should by all _means_ disgust him and make him feel anything but this raging fire of arousal, but it doesn't, and as Blaine works his saliva around, rubbing his palm over the head of his cock, Kurt just moans and remembers the time Blaine had spit his come out and licked it back up, and what is _wrong_ with him.

In the back of his mind Kurt's aware that Gerard is probably going to make an appearance soon and that knowledge alone would have been enough to deter the Kurt Hummel of 2010. However, it's 2012 and Kurt's _ridiculously_ sexy boyfriend is naked and jerking off on webcam and, well, Kurt's only human.

"Okay, okay," he gasps, mainly to himself, as he flicks the lube back open and applies a liberal amount on his palm, coating the dildo with it. Blaine fucks up into the circle of his fist, watching with wide eyes as Kurt rubs the head around his hole a few times, spread the excess lube, before pushing in.

Immediately his back tightens and his jaw slackens and he doesn't stop himself from letting his head fall back and a moan to vibrate its way out of his chest.

He's missed it, the burn, the stretch and the amazing resulting fullness. He's missed the way it makes his eyes water in the slightest, missed the way his mouth turns up at the corners as he adjusts and breathes deep. He's missed Blaine's accompanying shaky moan, missed the slick sound of another fist on a cock.

"Blaine," he whines, the name leaving his lips on habit, working and threading its way through the air. He gets his own name in reedy vowels as a reward, followed by a few swears as Blaine strokes faster and whispers barely-heard encouragement.

He flicks his wrist, pushing the dildo in deeper, and he moans when it grazes his prostate, and that's it, the next stroke will be it, will be the one to finally bring him over and make him come harder than he has in weeks; the bed is shaking slightly, and he's about to reach a hand down to tease the head of his cock—

"Yo, Kurt, dude, I know you've got 'date night' with your boy or whatever but have you seen…"

"I haven't seen anything, Gerard," Kurt snaps immediately, turning his head to look at his dumbfounded roommate who still has one hand on the knob of the door he'd just opened. Kurt can see Gerard's eyes flick from his laptop, where Blaine is clearly visible and clearly getting off just as hard as Kurt is, though he actually has the decency to stop what he's doing and look at least a little mortified, to the shameless spread of Kurt's legs. Kurt, however, is livid, because now that burning desperation has backed off, leaving his body humming but not in the way he wants, not in that livewire sort of way he'd just had. "Gerard, I'm kind of busy," he snaps, pushing the dildo back in to punctuate his point, biting back his moan.

"Oh," Gerard says. "I, er, yeah. I'll just be… going." He slams the door shut and Kurt sighs with relief, working his wrist back into the angle he'd had just minutes ago.

"Sorry about that," Kurt says, speeding up his hand, and instantly he can feel that manic desperation returning, flooding him, and all he can do now is arch his back and breathe. "Oh, god. Oh, god. I'm close."

Blaine, who seems to have finally shaken out of his shock, resumes his encouragement. "That's it. That's it, baby, just like that. Fuck yourself, pretend it's my dick, filling you up, making you sore, _yes_, Kurt. You look so good, so slutty, my perfect, perfect boy."

Kurt's closed his eyes, wants to open them but just _can't_, everything's too much, and he finally wraps a hand around his own cock, squeezes the base and thumbs the head for lubrication. Letting Blaine take over the dirtytalk portion of their sex life just may be the best decision he's ever made.

"Gonna come," he moans. "Fuck, feels so good."

"Wish I could lick it up," Blaine's saying, his voice lower now, and he's close. "Let you come in my mouth or on my face. You taste so good, all of you."

Kurt slips his hand lower, along his balls, angles the dildo slightly, and he's coming hot and wet over his hand, on his chest, with a loud moan, hips snapping up and then pushing down as his body shakes and all he can do is whine low and long.

He's just propped himself up on his elbows, blinking slowly, when he catches Blaine leaned close to his own laptop, the shot just his abdomen and cock, and Kurt watches the delayed motion of his hand stroking over his cock before he's coming in thick spurts, stark against his still-summer-tanned olive skin, as he shudders and moans.

"That was eerily reminiscent of a certain video," Kurt muses when they've caught their breath. He slowly slides the dildo out, wincing, and wraps it up in a few tissues to wash later.

Blaine laughs, wipes his hand off on his discarded sweats—_ugh he can be such a boy_—and flops onto his back. "Don't remind me."

"If you thought you'd ever live that down," Kurt says, "you've forgotten who you're dating."

"I wouldn't act all smug, there," Blaine says, sitting up fully now. He angles his laptop again so that now all Kurt has is his face and upper chest. He's sort of missing the view already. "I seem to recall you making fun of my 'exhibitionism kink' a few times when you just full-on fucked yourself in front of your roommate."

Kurt's face heats up immediately now that they're out of the heat of the moment and he realizes exactly what he's done. Gerard had said he was cool with Kurt being gay and everything, but being cool with the idea and walking in on your new roommate and his boyfriend having webcam sex is something different. "I was close," he argues pitifully and earns the expected bray of laughter in return.

"You're too cute, Kurt Hummel," Blaine says, grinning widely. "I think I just may be in love with you."

Kurt pulls his blanket over his lap, suddenly overcome with an almost schoolgirl-sense of love and happiness. The states and thousands of miles separating them cease to exist and it's all about Blaine, about them and their inevitable future together. "And I think that I may be in love with you, too, Blaine Anderson."

****xxxxXxxxx****

A few months into the semester when Kurt gets a weekend in the dorm alone, he finally utilizes the video recorder on his laptop. He doesn't burn a DVD because there's no need, but he does attach the file in an email to Blaine and makes sure to label it appropriately: **Warbler routines to Katy Perry_._**

He emails it.

A few hours later, when he's settled down with a small salad from one of the on-campus restaurants, he gets a text message.

_Kurt Hummel, you naughty naughty little boy_

And then:

_Youre so fucking flexible its ridiculous_

At least all that Cheerios practice went to some good use out of high school. He'd have to be sure to mention that to Coach Sylvester next time he was in town._  
><em>


	11. I Simply Do It Best

Title is from "The Music Or The Misery" by Fall Out Boy.  
>Warnings are: auto-fellatio (self-sucking), minor swearing, masturbation, recording and viewing of sexual acts (well duh).<p>

Well hey, this story is back. This chapter wasn't even _supposed_ to be in this 'verse but when I started writing it everything suddenly came back to here and I felt it worked better if I kept it that way. This seriously honestly _definitely_ should be the last chapter unless I get another idea. Which, knowing me, is way too probable.** But don't hold your breath, guys. Seriously.**

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

**xxxxXxxxx**

The text Kurt receives from Blaine at 1:48am East Coast time on a bitterly cold December Saturday a few weeks before Christmas break isn't one he ever expects to get.

He's cuddled up in bed, the heat turned up in the room—much to the dismay of Gerard, his roommate, who's currently sleeping half-out of the covers—and the penultimate chapter of "The Age of Innocence" open on his lap. He pauses in his consumption of the questionable morals of 1870s New York society to look down at his phone, now sitting silent and dark on the covers next to him.

He has no idea who could be texting him this late; Blaine had said he was going to bed about an hour ago and Rachel tends to text him in only absolute emergencies. He sets his book down, making careful note of the page and paragraph, and picks up his phone. A quick swipe of the finger unlocks it and from there he goes straight to his messages folder.

It's from Blaine.

**To Kurt**  
><em>I just came in my mouth<em>

Kurt raises an eyebrow as he reads and then re-reads the text. Something twists hotly inside him, tight and coiling and overwhelming, as the weight of the words begin to sink in. Blaine just…he couldn't have. Surely he meant his hand and he's just too caught up and out of it to have noticed before he sent it. It's happened before with both of them and they've easily laughed it off, joking about autocorrect and masturbation being worse enemies than PETA and the fashion industry. Blaine can't really mean…no. That's impossible. Well, not _impossible_, per se, but Kurt's only ever heard of it, too nervous to go surfing the web for videos. It's something he's wanted to try—he's a guy, of _course_ he's wanted to try—but he's never quite been able to work out his flexibility to go that far.

**To Blaine**  
><em>You…what?<em>

**To Kurt**  
><em>Youre not the only one working on your flexibility<em>

The next one comes immediately after.

**To Kurt**  
><em>I have video<em>

Kurt's next breath gets caught somewhere between his windpipe and his lungs. He vaguely thinks that they've got to stop with this video thing before someone actually finds them when he phone vibrates once with an email. He has to bite his lip to stifle his too-loud whimper, feeling his dick begin to take interest under the covers.

**To Kurt**  
><em>Let me know when you watch it ;)<em>

**To Blaine**  
><em>Oh my god are you serious right now<em>

**To Blaine**  
><em>Did you really…<em>

**To Kurt**  
><em>Self-suck? Yes<em>

Kurt bites his lip to muffle his moan, fingers twitching against his thigh, itching to wrap around his cock. He looks over at Gerard's sleeping form, wishing desperately that he would have gone to that party on the third floor instead of staying in to study and crash early. He squirms on the bed and texts Blaine back with shaky fingers.

**To Blaine**  
><em>Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't…I can't watch it now. Gerard is here.<em>

**To Kurt**  
><em>Tell him to leave. Or he could stay. He's already seen us jerking off together<em>

**To Blaine**  
><em>Blaine<em>_. No. I have to room with this guy for the rest of the year. He was okay with the first time, but I don't think he'll be too happy if it becomes a thing._

**To Kurt**  
><em>Watch it tomorrow then? And let me know. Seriously baby. I need to go to bed anyway. College Algebra test tomorrow<em>

**To Blaine**  
><em>I<em>_'__ll watch it. God, yes, I'll watch it. Goodnight and good luck, honey. I love you._

**To Kurt**  
><em>I love you too xo<em>

**xxxxXxxxx**

Kurt kicks Gerard out after lunch the next day.

"Go visit your friends in the other building," Kurt insists, hands on his hips. Gerard looks pleadingly at him, even throwing in that pout of his that usually makes Kurt cave (and has resulted in several disastrous incidents over the course of the semester).

"They won't have anything to do," Gerard whines, clasping his hands together. "_Please_ let me stay. I'll do anything!"

"You're dramatic," Kurt replies, lips twitching in a smile. "But seriously, Gerard. My _boyfriend_. You remember him? I have _plans_ with him. Plans that need to not involve my overly-dramatic roommate."

"Ugh, fine," Gerard huffs. "I hope you enjoy subjecting me to a fucking freezing afternoon of pure boredom." He pretends to grab angrily at his coat and scarf, sliding the coat on and winding the scarf around his neck before storming dramatically out the door. Kurt rolls his eyes and laughs, shutting the door and making sure that it's locked.

He sits down at his desk across the room, opening his laptop and turning it on. As he waits for it to load he can't help but be reminded of an extremely similar incident over a year ago and he's struck by how much everything has changed, by how _far_ he and Blaine have come since that November night.

He thinks wistfully back to _West Side Story_, to that horrid week before where neither knew how to properly ask about sex, instead choosing to dance around it until Scandals, where everything finally bubbled over and blew up. He remembers back to Blaine saying—actually saying, and he hadn't been expecting it in the least, though rationally he knew it happened—that he got off to thoughts of Kurt.

He thinks then to later, a few weeks after their first time, when Blaine had come up to him at school, blushing red and twitching nervously, shoving an unmarked DVD into his hands. It had marked the beginning of what is still an admittedly _fantastic_ sex life that Kurt is so, so glad he gets to share with Blaine.

The computer finally loads; he opens Firefox and goes to his email, searching for the one Blaine had sent last night and finds it near the top, under an email from the Playbill Store, the subject title still their secret code.

It takes a minute or so to download and when it's done Kurt pulls it open in QuickTime. He hovers over the play button, worrying his bottom lip as his heart starts to beat a little faster.

He presses play with that same apprehension filling him that he'd had the first time he'd watched one of Blaine's videos. The shot, as it comes into focus, is a close-up one of the side of Blaine's head and upper torso; his eyes are shut, lashes fluttering and brushing the tops of his cheeks, and his skin is flushed slightly. His lips are parted, barely red and wet in the dim light of his bedroom. When he finally opens his eyes they're wide, dilated, and he glances over briefly at the camera before he's rocking slightly, getting momentum, and then—oh _fuck_, then he's swinging his legs up, feet resting presumably on his headboard or the wall behind it, and he's _bent in half_. He's bent in half and the head of his cock is a scant few inches away from his mouth, flushed dark and hard and glistening wet at the tip.

Kurt whimpers as Blaine lifts up and swipes the broad of his tongue over the head of his cock, bringing a hand up to twist at the base and rub at the skin of his balls. Blaine drops his jaw and lifts up further, pushing in deeper until his lips brush his hand. The moan he lets out is garbled but audible as he wraps his arms behind his legs and pushes his hips forward, fucking into his mouth.

Kurt's hard painfully fast inside his jeans; he lets out a loud moan, eyes slipping closed of their own volition as he squeezes his cock through the denim, rubbing hard. He undoes the button and zipper, unwilling to look away as Blaine swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, the shape pushing out the side of his cheek as he runs his tongue along the length, sucks hard at the tip with lush, swollen lips.

It's a sight Kurt's seen before numerous times, a sight he'll never get _tired_ of seeing, but this time, knowing that it's not his cock stretching Blaine's lips wide, not his cock Blaine's moaning around, it's _better_. It's almost like it's new, like it's someone else, and that thought stirs up a surprising haze of lust as he imagines watching another guy take Blaine, own him (but never in the way Kurt does, no, never) and make him beg.

He wonders how long Blaine's been practicing for this, how much yoga he's been doing and if he's been getting any help from any of their friends in glee club. Images of Blaine alone at night in his room, naked and sweating and hard, stretching and bending, every night getting a _little_ closer, _just a few more inches__ until, finally __yes, there_ flash through his mind. His cock twitches in his hand as he slides his jeans and boxer briefs down his hips, glad he kept on just a plain tank top instead of the sweater he's been dying to wear.

In the video Blaine pulls back to let out a breathy sigh, neck arching and head dropping to the pillows. He glances over at the camera briefly, eyes flickering up, then down, and Kurt rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, slicking up the next slide of his palm and moaning as the side of his thumb digs into the slit.

Blaine lifts back up again, sucking the head of his cock into his mouth, hand snaking from around the outside of his thigh to tug and pull at his balls. His breathing is harsh, quick, echoing tinny out of Kurt's speakers, and Kurt can hear every gulp and slurp as Blaine swallows and sucks.

"Fuck," he breathes, twisting his wrist tight at the base of his cock. His hips move up into the sensation, making the chair creak. He can't believe that this is _happening_, that Blaine has done this and filmed it and _sent it to him_, Jesus.

Blaine's hips arch impossibly closer to his face, forcing his cock in deep; Kurt can hear him choke slightly, the automatic convulsions of his throat, but with an exhale of breath that's barely audible Blaine's jaw drops a little further and he takes the length of his cock down his throat. His eyelashes flutter and his cheeks hollow, brow creasing as he rubs at the stretch of skin between his balls and hole. Kurt bites hard into the skin of his lower lip as his back arches, hand working rough and fast over his cock.

Another pull back, the slick squelch of his cock sliding out, and Blaine's swirling his tongue around the tip again, pushing it against the inside of his cheek as he runs his fingers light, teasing, over the slick, glistening flesh. Kurt watches his back arch slightly, the labored movements of his stomach and chest as he breathes. A thin strand of saliva connects the head of his cock to his bottom lip and Kurt moans at all the times he's seen _that_ sight.

Blaine takes himself deep again, pumping what he can't reach. Kurt feels the stirrings in his abdomen, the low, dark coil of rushing, consuming pleasure waiting, sparking at the base of his spine, building heat in his face and ears. He runs his free hand over his chest, rubbing the broad of his palm over a nipple before letting that hand drop down to cup his balls. He cries out, a stifled moan, and breathes sharply through his nose.

He wants to see this in person, wants to be next to Blaine on the bed, watching and touching and _feeling_, feeling everything from the corded muscles of Blaine's body to the silkiness of his hair, damp with sweat and springing into the curls Blaine detests so much and that Kurt loves. He moans, the sound jumping from low to high in the back of his throat, and pushes up into the tight circle of his fist. He's close, so, so close.

It's not long before Blaine's shaking with it as well, and with a few more bobs of his head he starts to come with a jerk of his body, his desperate whimpers muffled by his cock, brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut tight as it pulses deep in his throat, jerking and twitching in the loose grip his thumb and forefinger offer on the shaft and the loose skin of his sac. Kurt watches, enraptured, and it only takes another tight stroke of his own fist before he's arching up and tipping his head back, moaning loud and low as he spills over his fist and down his fingers, splattering the thin cotton of his tank top.

He blinks bleary eyes open, feeling heavy and sated and loose-limbed in his chair. Blaine sucks one last time before he's pulling back, running his tongue along the head, and Kurt inhales sharply at the thick white sitting on his tongue, connecting to the head of his cock in a thin string. Blaine sinks back down, laving at the shaft, and the wet echo of his swallows—_his own come, oh god, it's his own come he's swallowing, a mouthful of it, not like he's licking it from my fingers or _face—reaches Kurt's speakers, filtering through, and if he could come again, _fuck_. He groans and drops his head back, shutting his eyes and focusing on his breathing.

"Fuck." Blaine's voice is choked-off and breathy and Kurt looks up to see Blaine fumbling for the camera, grabbing it and tilting it sideways, offering a view of his body, slumped boneless into the sheets, and his still-red and shiny cock held in his hand. His torso rises and falls rapidly as he catches his breath.

He offers no more, and seconds later the video goes black, leaving Kurt with an empty screen and an emptier mind. Eventually the come starts to cool sticky and tacky on his hand and cock and he stumbles to the pack of wet wipes he keeps under his bed, producing two to clean himself off with. When the wipes are dirty and tossed in the trash he reaches for his phone, dialing Blaine's number and hoping he's not busy, though it's a Sunday and it's not like Blaine goes to church.

_"Well hello, gorgeous."_

"Blaine," Kurt breathes immediately, clutching hard onto the phone. He still feels dizzy and light-headed, everything feeling lime it's there but not, the ground uneven even when it's flat.

The laugh Kurt receives in return is knowing. _"You just came didn't you?"_

"Yes." Kurt knows there's no denying it; he'd promised Blaine he'd watch the video and now he has, and isn't that the reason he's calling in the first place? "I just—oh my _god_, Blaine. I…fuck, when did you get so flexible?"

Blaine's smile is audible even through a crackly connection. _"It's always a good day when I've rendered Kurt Hummel speechless. I told you, I've been practicing. I wanted to surprise you with it when you visited, but when I found out** that** could happen, I couldn't wait."_

Kurt whimpers before he can stop himself and finds that he's not embarrassed at all by it. "Baby," he whines. "I need you right now. So _bad_."

_"Do you have time to Skype right now?"_

"Um." Kurt looks at the clock, nibbling on his lower lip before releasing it, feeling the indentations of his teeth from earlier. "I told Gerard to leave about an hour ago, so I'd say we have…another hour, maybe, before he gets bored and comes back."

_"Well then,"_ Blaine says brightly, _"I think another Skype date is in order. Then I can show you the **other** things I can do now."_

Kurt's hanging up almost before Blaine's finished with his sentence.


End file.
